


Honest Things

by DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Competitive Boyfriending, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Out, Marks, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pigtail Pulling, Practice Kissing, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rest of the team gets fed up with Dex and Nursey always being at each other's throat, so they drop them at a cabin in the woods for a long weekend to get their shit together. Neither of them is excited about spending 3 days in close quarters with the person they want but can't have.</p><p>What's the best way to respond? Pretend to date, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Cool To Care

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to raspberrycordial for being my reader/person I bounce ideas off of/person I squee to about these idiot boys and how much I love them. 
> 
> Also, thanks to the Check, Please! fandom for being so fantastic and so full of wonderful people and great fanworks, to the organizers of NurseyDex Week for motivating me to write this down and start posting, and especially to Ngozi Ukazi for creating these amazing characters.
> 
> Title from "Foolish Games" by Jewel

In hindsight, Dex realizes, as they bump along the narrow, rutted trail through the woods, they really should have seen this coming.

* * *

“We should go for ice cream!” Chowder says, physically dragging Dex and Nursey behind him. How he manages it when they both have at least 6 inches and 50 pounds on him, Dex has no idea, but apparently when you transcend to another plane of enthusiasm, you get the ability to overcome the laws of physics. At this point, Chowder is basically a force of nature, like a hurricane. Either you go along with him or you end up flattened in his wake

Dex exchanges a resigned look with Nursey; probably the most in tune they’ve been for the past two months. Dex can admit, if only in his own head, that it’s pretty fucked when the only thing they can agree on is that they don’t want to go for ice cream and have Chowder try to nice them into getting along. But he and Nursey are...complicated.

“You guys are going to love this place!” Chowder says, actually fucking bouncing in place like the Labrador puppy he is as they wait in line. “The ice cream is really great! Caitlin and I came here last week and she said it was probably the best ice cream she’d ever had!”

Nursey frowns as he scanned the menu board. “They don’t have vanilla? What kind of ice cream place doesn’t have vanilla?”

“What kind of weirdo orders vanilla ice cream at a place like this?” Dex shoots back. “They’ve got  [ bacon-flavored ice cream ](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/maple-bacon-crunch-ice-cream-recipe.html) ; that should be right up your alley, Nurse. Don’t all the hipsters love bacon?”

“I love bacon!” Chowder interjects, physically placing himself between them. “Bacon is probably the most perfect food ever. I don’t know about bacon ice cream, though. And that  [ goat cheese one ](http://www.delish.com/food/g2795/50-states-crazy-ice-cream-flavors/?slide=6) seems pretty weird. But [ the sweet corn one ](http://www.delish.com/food/g2795/50-states-crazy-ice-cream-flavors/?slide=3) is actually pretty good and the  [ apple pie ](http://www.thelittleepicurean.com/2014/11/apple-pie-ice-cream.html) one is almost as good as Bitty’s pie.” Chowder froze, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell him I said that, okay, guys?”

Nursey nudges Dex’s shoulder. “Check it, Poindexter, they’ve got  [ lobster ice cream ](http://www.delish.com/food/g2795/50-states-crazy-ice-cream-flavors/?slide=19) . Guess I know what you’re getting.”

Because Dex is pathologically incapable of backing down from a dare when Nursey makes it in that tone of voice (they’ll probably put that on his tombstone: Here lies William Poindexter, because Derek Nurse dared him), he does end up getting the lobster flavor. It turns out it’s kind of a butter flavored ice cream with chunks of lobster on top, which is not as terrible as it sounds, even if it’s not really what you’d expect from ice cream. 

He keeps getting distracted from his own ice cream, though. Chowder is walking quietly between them with his double dip cone (a scoop each of  [ coconut curry ](http://www.delish.com/food/g2795/50-states-crazy-ice-cream-flavors/?slide=33) and bacon, which he says is actually pretty good, even in combination), for once unable to talk since his tongue is busy with something else. Nursey, however, looks like he’s doing some kind of overly sexual ice cream ad. He scoops up some of his apple pie ice cream from the small waxed paper bowl, slides the spoon slowly into his mouth, then closes his lips around it, pulling it back out even slower. Sometimes he ends up with smears of ice cream on his lips, and then his tongue darts out to lick them off, tracing the entire outline of his mouth and leaving it wet and shiny. Dex hates all of it; how good Nursey looks doing it, how he can’t stop staring, how he  _ cannot stop wanting Derek Nurse,  _ even though there’s no way Nursey would want him back.

Dex is so preoccupied with what’s going on with Nursey’s mouth and his own patheticness that he doesn’t realize his fellow D-man has tripped over his own feet until it’s too late. Nursey goes down, the little waxed paper bowl of ice cream goes up….and lands squarely in the middle of Dex’s t-shirt. His lucky t-shirt. The shirt that used to belong to his older brother. The shirt that Dex stole before Josh left for Afghanistan.

“What the fuck, Nurse!” Dex yells, pulling the shirt away from his body to try and assess the damage. “Why can’t you watch where you’re going for once in your fucking life?”

Chowder scrambles to offer the napkins that he grabbed from the shop, but Dex takes them and waves him off when Chowder tries to wipe the ice cream off. He knows himself, knows he’s too angry right now to be touched without lashing out, and he also knows that he’ll never forgive himself if he punches Chowder. He’s so focused on not punching that he manages to restrain himself when Nursey’s hand lands on his shoulder, jerking away instead of taking a swing.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” he mutters, taking off at his top not-actually-running speed in the direction of his dorm. He pretends he doesn’t hear Chowder calling after him. He pretends he isn’t listening for Nursey and hearing only silence.

His phone starts buzzing when he’s washing his shirt in the bathroom sink, because his carefully calculated laundry quarters are going to come up short if he does an extra load this week. He ignores it until he’s back in his room, stretched out on his bed, and has done some deep breathing to calm himself down.

Of course, all of that goes right out the window when he unlocks his phone and sees the text.

**Nursey: sorry  
** **Nursey: Dude, really, I’m sorry  
** **Nursey: I can buy u another shirt if u want?**

Dex grinds his teeth together and counts backwards from ten, first in English, then in Gaelic. It doesn’t help

**Dex: some things u can’t buy**

He considers it a triumph of willpower that he sets the phone down gently on his desk instead of throwing it at the wall, and adds the incident to his mental list of Reasons Nothing Is Ever Going To Happen With Nursey.

It doesn’t help much.

* * *

The first time, Derek thinks it’s a mistake. He tripped over that tree root, so there’s no way Dex could’ve been aiming for his ear. It’s not fair for Derek to assume he did it on purpose, no matter how competently Dex handled the paintball gun when Ransom and Holster handed them out. But the paintball stings like a son of a bitch, and now he has blue paint in his ear, which is going to be a bitch to clean off.

The second paintball,  yellow this time, hits low on his hip and arouses his suspicions. Dex hitting him twice can’t be a coincidence, and he’s looking remarkably smug around the eyes. By the time the third paintball (red) hits the back of his neck, Derek has had enough.

“What the fuck, Poindexter?” Derek yelps, scrubbing at his neck. Gently, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to be bruised, if he’s lucky and it doesn’t swell up like a balloon.

“It’s paintball,” Dex explains in the patronizing tone that always has Derek grinding his teeth. “You shoot people in paintball.”

It takes a minute for Derek to unclench his jaw. “I’m aware,” he says frostily. “In case  _ you  _ didn’t know, we’re on the  _ same team _ .”

Dex shrugs, practically oozing nonchalance. “Oops?”

Derek can feel his teeth grinding together as he turns back to try and see where Ransom and Holster had disappeared to. His dental hygienist is going to have some serious words for him at his next cleaning.

Some sixth sense has him jumping up and whirling around just in time to catch the (green) paintball on his chest. “Fuck this!” he yells, dropping his gun to the ground and stalking off in the direction of his dorm as Dex’s eyes widen in surprise. “I quit!”

Derek hears two different voices crying “Bro!” behind him (Ransom and Holster could be a Greek chorus all by themselves if they wanted to), but he ignores them in favor of really owning his angry walk, darkly pleased when a small group of his fellow freshman scatter before him like intimidated ducklings. 

Righteous anger gets him all the way back to the dorms and into the bathroom, where a thorough scrubbing reveals a lovely bruise blossoming across his ear (probably his neck, too, but he can’t see that in the mirror, a tender spot on his hip and his chest,  and a defeated expression on his face. 

“It’s whatever,” he says. Mirror-Derek doesn’t look like he’s buying it.

Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  _ Dex is never going to like me. That’s okay. Not everybody has to like me. _

He opens them again. “It’s chill,” he says to his reflection, who still looks a little sad, honestly. “Whatever.”

* * *

“Dex! Nursey!” Shitty hands them each a cup, politely ignoring their skeptical looks. “Drink up!”

“What the hell,” Derek says, tipping his back mainly because Dex is still eyeing his like a dead mouse might float to the surface at any moment. “Only live once, right?”

“As far as we know!” Shitty agrees; he’s apparently high and/or drunk enough already that all of his sentences end in exclamation points, even though the kegster is barely getting started. “Not into the tub juice tonight, Dex-man? Get you something else?”

Dex’s jaw sets in a familiar line. “No, I can do it,” he says, draining a good third of the cup. 

“Dude,” Shitty says solemnly. “If you want to, by all means. But don’t feel like you have to do that shit just to meet some bullshit macho standard. This is not that kinda place, or that kinda team. Right, Bits?”

“Huh? Probably,” Bitty agrees absently, clearly just passing through on his way to the kitchen. 

“It’s...actually not that bad,” Dex says, completely failing to hide his surprise. “A lot smoother than the shit at high school parties in Maine, anyway.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Shitty crows, holding up his hand for a high five. “Best tub juice in five states!”

Dex slaps Shitty’s palm and ducks his head to hide a little smile. Derek’s heart does a completely inappropriate little flip at the sight and he sternly tells it to settle down, but a traitorous part of him points out that they’re going to be drinking, and all sorts of things could happen. The part of his brain that has been seriously schooled by Shitty reminds him that drunk is not consent and he needs to be a better human being.

What actually happens is that they sit there in sullen silence for the next two hours as Shitty tries increasingly obvious ploys to get them talking to each other to find some kind of common ground. By the time he loses focus and wanders off, the only common ground they’ve reached is their silent agreement not to talk to each other.

* * *

Dex stops in his tracks as he enters the Haus kitchen. “Am I late?” he asks, even though he knows he isn’t. Jack’s text had said 2:45 and the oven clock says 2:43. The assembled team members look solemnly at him from around the table and the ever-present knot of anxiety in Dex’s belly starts to tighten.

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the opening door and the clatter of Nursey tripping over air on his way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Nursey says, sounding unsure for once as he takes in the fact that literally everyone else on the team is here and waiting. “The text said 2:45…”

“Your interpersonal conflicts are causing problems on the team,” Jack says bluntly. “We don’t expect every d-man pair to be Ransom and Holster--”

“Not that you could,” Holster’s whisper is louder than Bitty’s speaking voice. Ransom fistbumps him.

Jack closes his eyes as if praying for strength. “However, you’re making everyone else uncomfortable. We’ve tried informal solutions, but nothing has worked so far. It’s time for more drastic measures.”

Dex can feel the words bubbling up behind his teeth, the pleas for one more chance, the promises to change, but he locks his jaw. Begging doesn’t help. If he’s getting kicked off the team, he’s going to take it with dignity.

“Um,” Nursey ventures, since Jack is clearly looking for a response. “When you say ‘drastic measures’...?”

“My family has a hunting cabin near here,” Shitty says. “Nice little place. You two are going to spend the long weekend there. Alone. Ransom and Holster will pick you up Monday evening.”

“I don’t know what the problem is between you, and I don’t care,” Jack says. “But I expect you to sort it out. Clear?”

“Clear,” they chorus. Dex glances at Nursey in surprise; they aren’t usually that in sync unless they’re on the ice.

“Pack your bags,” Ransom says cheerfully. “We’ll pick you up in front of your dorms in fifteen.”

Shitty smiles at them almost benevolently, but there’s an edge to his smile that isn’t usually there. “Dress warm, boys. It gets cold in the woods at night.”

Dex nods and turns on his heel, not looking behind him to see what Nursey’s doing. He’ll be damned if he loses his hockey scholarship and his college education because of some over-chill rich city boy. If he has to spend a weekend in a cabin in the woods with Derek Nurse, that’s what he’s going to do.

* * *

“Here we are,” Ransom announces as the truck mercifully bounces to a stop in front of a small structure, barely visible in the late evening twilight. “Home sweet home. Shitty said there’s food in there, and you’ve got your phones, so if there’s an emergency, we can come get you. But unless someone’s bleeding, you’re here ‘til Monday, so play nice.”

Derek climbs out without dignifying that with a response and shoulders his bag from the back of the truck. He even hands Dex’s bag down to him; they’re supposed to be nicer to each other, right? Of course, Dex immediately looks suspicious, but hey, at least Derek’s trying.

“All right, bro,” Holster says, tossing them a key that Dex catches in midair. Derek manages to control his abortive reach before he topples over onto the forest floor. “Enjoy your little getaway. And play nice. We need both of you in once piece for the season.”

The truck rumbles back down the dirt road away from the cabin, an almost-eerie silence left in its wake. Derek hitches the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. “I guess we should go in?”

He wnces at how uncertain his voice sounds, but this is a fuck-ton of nature, and not on the other side of a window, either. It’s dark and creepy and looks like the perfect place for a serial killer to come striding along, hoisting a chainsaw or some other nasty implement. Right now, Derek wants nothing more than to get some kind of wall between him and all of this outside.

“Yeah, it’s pretty dark,” Dex agrees, looking like he wishes he could argue. He sets off for the cabin but fumbles with the door lock in the darkness. “Jesus, Nurse, think you could give me a little space?”

“Huh?” Derek realizes that he was barely inches away from Dex’s back. He takes a reluctant step to the side. “Sure, sorry. It’s just really dark out here.”

Dex makes a scoffing noise as the door finally unlocks. “City boy.”

“Yup,” Derek agrees, following Dex inside. “Well. Um.”

They stand just inside the door, surveying their new domain. When Derek heard “cabin,” he’d been expecting basically a small house in the woods (or maybe a not-so-small house; Shitty’s family was supposedly loaded). This cabin was one medium-sized room, with a queen-sized bed on one side and a small kitchen and dining table on the other, plus a door that hopefully led to a bathroom.

“Fuck,” Dex says, letting his bag drop to the floor with a thud.

All Derek can do is nod.


	2. Nothing to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys share the cabin, share the bed, and hatch a plan; or,
> 
> the chapter where the author starts being really mean to them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where I start to earn that Explicit rating, so be prepared. I am going to update the tags as much as possible to help provide you with a more informed reading experience; if there's something I should tag for that I haven't, please let me know and I'll make that change! 
> 
> Also, my apologies if I randomly switch tense; this thing really wanted to be in present tense but I do occasionally slip into past tense verbs by reflex. I _think_ I caught them all, but feel free to let me know if I missed one.
> 
> The chapter count is a rough estimate based on my current outline, and might change; we'll see how it goes!
> 
> As always, many thanks to raspberrycordial for beta reading, enabling me by providing me with a constant string of NurseyDex fic recommendations, and helping cheerlead this thing into existence!

Dex flips on the light switch, hoping against hope that better lighting will reveal something different. Another room, hiding in the shadows. Somewhere he’ll be able to escape from the relentless chill that is Derek Nurse.

Unfortunately, the cabin looks even smaller in the light of the two-bulb fixture. No second bed mysteriously appears, no private space. He crosses to the door, opening it to reveal a bathroom so cramped as to be almost claustrophobic for someone of their size. One toilet, one sink, one single shower stall.

“At least there’s electricity and running water?” Nursey offers from behind him. 

“Yeah,” Dex agrees grudgingly, turning back into the main part of the cabin. “Could be a lot worse. It could be winter; that wood stove isn’t going to do much when it’s twenty below unless we’re sitting right on top of it.”

Nursey blinks at him, the confused look that Dex absolutely should not find adorable. “Huh?”

“There’s electricity and water,” Dex says, trying for patience. He can’t quite keep the irritated edge out of his tone. “But that stove burns wood. Which is why there’s a pile of cut-up wood next to it.”

“Oh.” Nursey stares at the stove in bemusement. “Do you know how to work one of those? Cause I don’t.”

Dex shakes his head and starts rolling up his sleeves. “It’s your lucky day, Nurse.”

He ignores the snorting noise behind him in favor of checking out the stove. There are convenient little baskets of newspaper and kindling tucked in front of the wood bin, so he starts scrunching up paper and laying it inside the stove.

“What are you doing?” Nursey asks. His voice is genuinely curious for once, without that condescending edge that might be (probably is) just Dex’s imagination. 

Dex shifts to the side so Nursey can see. “Paper catches fire easier than wood,” he explains. So you start with a lot of paper, enough to keep it burning long enough for the wood to catch. We’ve got lots here, so I’m basically filling the bottom of the stove. We’re going to want this fire to keep going most of the night or we’ll be really cold.”

“So what comes after the paper?” Nursey asks, settling down on the floor. He’s so close that his shoulder brushes against Dex’s arm; Dex has to take a deep breath to keep from leaning into the touch.

“After the paper,” he says, scrunching the last piece of newspaper into place, “we add kindling. Some people make it into kind of a teepee shape over the wood, but I like to stack it kind of like a log cabin.” He demonstrates, making a layer of kindling across the paper. “But you have to leave space between them so the fire can catch on the kindling. Otherwise the paper will burn out and you have to start over.”

Nursey’s forehead furrows like it does when he’s trying to write a poem or learn a new play. “Okay. So the paper catches fire first, and then that fire catches on the kindling. So you put bigger pieces on top of the kindling?”

Dex nods. “Yeah. Smaller pieces of the firewood, but bigger than the kindling. Fire has to kind of stairstep up or it’ll go out on you.”

“Cool.” Nursey watches in silence as Dex finishes stacking the kindling and lays firewood on top, split side down, until the stove is full. “Now what?”

Dex shoves to his feet and opens the damper, then reaches for the box of matches on the counter. “Now we see if it works.”

He lights the newspaper all along the front of the stove and waits, watching the fire race through the paper and lick around the kindling, little orange tongues of flame flickering upward.

“Um,” Nursey says, scooting backwards a little as sparks start to appear. “Shouldn’t we close the door?”

“Not yet,” Dex says absently, stepping on a spark that falls to the floor. “Fire needs air. We want to be sure it’s good and going before we close the door.”

“Ooooookay.” Nursey gets to his feet with only a little wobble. “I’ll just see what kind of groceries we’ve got.”

Dex smirks at him. “Hope you can cook.”

“You can’t?” Nursey raises his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “You mean there’s actually something William J. Poindexter can’t do?”

Dex flicks a ball of wadded-up newspaper at him. “We can’t all be perfect, Nurse.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” Nursey says as he starts opening cabinets. “You get to reap the benefits of my latchkey childhood. I got tired of Kraft macaroni and cheese by the time I was twelve.”

Something in Dex’s stomach clenches at the mental picture of small, awkward preteen Nursey, all big eyes and gangly limbs, alone in an empty house, teaching himself to cook. “Watch a lot of Julia Child?” he jokes, doing his best to convince himself that the stinging in his eyes is from the woodsmoke.

“Sometimes,” Nursey answers seriously. “YouTube is a treasure trove, dude, seriously.” 

After a certain amount of banging and clattering and a silence that somehow isn’t uncomfortable, they sit down to reheated beef stew and biscuits that Nursey somehow managed to bake in a skillet on the stovetop. Dex still isn’t convinced that he didn’t use magic, but the biscuits taste like biscuits, maybe a little dense but tasty with lots of butter, so he lets it slide.

“Dude, this is really good,” he says, pausing for breath when his bowl is about half-empty. Because he can admit that Nursey is good at something when he is, goddamnit. Even if it does feel vaguely unnatural.

Nursey ducks his head over his own bowl and...is he blushing? It’s hard to tell, but his cheeks are a darker shade than the rest of his skin. “It’s just canned stew,” he mumbles. “Didn’t have time for anything fancy.”

For some reason, this makes Dex want to push, because Nursey being humble about something is even more unnatural than Dex complimenting him. “If I hadn’t seen you open the cans, I wouldn’t have known it came from one,” he says, taking another bite. “You put stuff in it, didn’t you?”

“Just some garlic and onions,” Nursey says, shrugging, but he still won’t meet Dex’s eyes. “No big deal.”

“And I didn’t even know you could  _ make _ biscuits without using the oven,” Dex persists, and oh, fuck, there’s that little smile, the corners of Nursey’s mouth curling up. Dex needs to stop. He needs to stop right now, switch this to chirping, because he’s just torturing himself. But now that he knows how it feels to make Nursey smile, he has a sinking suspicion that he’s not going to be able to stop.

“Just wait until tomorrow,” Nursey says, looking at Dex almost shyly from under his lashes. “I’m okay at lunch and dinner but breakfast is my jam.”

Dex goes back to his dinner, doing his best to ignore the smile on his own face and the soft ball of pleasure in his stomach. “Swawesome.”

* * *

Of course, once dinner is eaten and the dishes are washed -- “You cooked,” Dex insists. “I wash. That’s how it works. Besides, there’s like ten things. It won’t take long.” -- the issue of the bed rears its head.

Specifically, the number of beds. As in, there’s one of it and two of them.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Dex offers. “Done it before. It’s just for a couple nights.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek says, hands on hips and his jaw set stubbornly. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing the issue, but the fact that Dex is so adamant makes him mad in a way he doesn’t want to examine too closely. “There’s only two blankets, and neither of them is very thick. If you’re on the floor and I’m in the bed, we’re both gonna be freezing.”

Dex hesitates, and that just makes Derek madder. “Bro, I swear I don’t have cooties. If we were on a roadie and the hotel only had rooms with one bed, we’d have to share. It’s not a big deal.”

“Fine,” Dex snaps, grabbing his bag and stalking to the bathroom. He doesn’t slam the door behind him, but it’s a near thing.

Derek sinks down to sit on the side of the bed. Now that they’re not arguing about it, now that he’s not pushing against Dex’s stupid insistence, the reality is sinking in. He’s going to have to sleep in the same bed as Dex. He’s going to have to fall asleep listening to his breathing and see what he looks like first thing in the morning and this might be the most terrible thing that Derek has ever had to do.

The squeak as the bathroom door sticks in its frame snaps him out of his spiralling anxiety. He thinks his face is mostly normal by the time that Dex comes out in a t-shirt and boxers; at least Dex doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Of course, he’s looking anywhere but at Derek. Or the bed.

“Your turn,” Dex announces needlessly, setting his bag on the other side of the bed.

Derek shoves himself up and takes his bag into the bathroom. The bedtime routine seems to take no time at all, and before he knows it he’s hesitating at the bathroom door. It takes three tries before he makes it out into the main room, dim now with only the light of a bedside lamp. Dex is already in the bed, lying stiffly on his side under the blankets.

Derek sighs out a hopefully inadaudible breath and busies himself finding a place for his bag. Once he gets it settled to his satisfaction, though, there’s nothing left to do except get into the bed. With Dex. He considers stalling longer, but the wood floor is cold under his feet, and if it seems like he’s hesitating, it’ll just give Dex something else to chirp him about.

He turns off the lamp and slides under the covers, trying to disturb Dex as little as possible. The sheets are cool through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and boxers, and Derek feels himself shifting closer to the radiant warmth that is Dex. He manages to stop himself before he crosses the invisible center line into Dex’s half of the bed, but it’s a near thing; two 6 foot plus hockey players pretty much fill the entire mattress.

Dex’s breathing is slow and even; for all Derek knows he’s already asleep. Derek tries to match it, to relax, let himself slip into sleep. It’s been a long day, with a brutal practice and the emotional stress of being packed away by his teammates like an inconvenient relative. Rest should come easily, but just as Derek’s eyes start to grow heavy, a noise from outside startles him awake.

“What the fuck was that?” he yelps, sitting bolt upright. 

Beside him, Dex makes a disgruntled noise as the movement pulls the blankets off him. “Probably branches on the roof.”

“You do know this is how every horror movie starts, right?” Derek says, staring into the shadowy dark of the room. “And we all know who’s dying first. It’s not gonna be you, freckles.”

Dex shoves him, just a little, but his voice is fond. “Go to sleep, city boy.”

Derek settles back down, pulling the blankets back up over both of them. He expects to lie wide awake in the dark, hyperaware of every noise, every movement of the air for several hours, but Dex’s presence next to him is unexpectedly calming. Before he knows it, he drifts away.

* * *

Dex wakes, not all at once like he usually does, but slowly. A firm body presses against his back, a muscular arm rests on his waist, fingers brushing against his stomach. Something about the situation niggles at the back of his mind, but his eyes are heavy and the room is still dark.

He drifts back to sleep before he can figure out what’s bothering him.

* * *

When Dex wakes again, sunlight is filtering through the curtained windows. His nose is cool where it peeks out from under the blankets, but the rest of him is pleasantly warm and content, too comfortable to move. 

It takes him a minute to realize that it’s Nursey in the bed with him, and then that’s all he can think about. It’s Nursey’s body pressed to his back, Nursey’s arm around his waist, Nursey’s breath on the back of his neck, Nursey’s--holy shit--Nursey’s morning wood pressing against his ass, only the thin fabric of their boxers separating them.

Dex is suddenly, achingly aware of his own erection. Waking up hard is nothing new, but waking up hard with Derek Nurse wrapped around him is like Marquis de Sade levels of torture. Part of Dex never wants to move, wants to stay in this blissful cocoon forever. Other parts of him helpfully point out how easy it would be to slide a hand down into his boxers and let things take their course. Hell, it probably wouldn’t take more than a couple of strokes to get him off at this point. 

Only the prospect of Nursey waking up and realizing Dex was jerking off in the bed they were sharing is enough to keep his hand where it is. It’s not enough to make his cock go down even a little, though, because his sense of self-preservation has clearly fucked off somewhere, leaving behind insidious little what-ifs. What if Nursey woke up while Dex was jerking off? What if he didn’t mind? 

What if he hooked his chin over Dex’s shoulder and watched, murmuring encouragements in his ear? What if he took the hand that was resting on Dex’s stomach and wrapped it around Dex’s, stroking until Dex came?

Dex shifts his hips a little, almost whimpering from the friction of his boxers, damp with precome against his cock. He presses his hand against it (it’s over his boxers, he’s not  _ actually  _ jerking off, it’s  _ fine) _ and freezes when Nursey shifts behind him, lust and terror mixing in his veins as he waits to see what happens next.

What happens next, it turns out, is Nursey shifting even closer, his cock grinding against Dex’s ass. The motion pushes Dex’s cock even further against his hand, pressure and friction so good that he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm. Nursey nuzzles the back of his neck, soft lips and scratchy stubble, kisses him there, and Dex is coming, shaking with the need to keep quiet.

As soon as it’s over, though, reality sets in, with the clarity that’s only possible in the few short moments of his life where his sex drive shuts up. Dex just came in his shorts, in the bed that he’s sharing with his teammate/crush/nemesis, while spooning. If he wants to maintain plausible deniability, he needs to act, and act now.

Extricating himself from the bed is surprisingly complicated. Every effort to escape Nursey’s grasp is met with a tightening of his arms and a protesting grumble. Finally, Dex has to pry Nursey’s arm off of him and roll quickly out of bed to keep from getting caught again. He grabs his bag and utilizes every ninja skill that he’s ever learned to sneak silently across the cabin to the bathroom.

“‘x?” Nursey mumbles when Dex is almost to the door. “‘Kay?”

“Bathroom,” Dex answers, peeking over his shoulder long enough to confirm that Nursey’s eyes are still closed, because he’s pretty sure his blush is visible from space at this point. “Go back to sleep.”

Nursey makes a grumbling noise and burrows deeper into the bed. Dex escapes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him with a sigh of relief. He’s got until Nursey wakes up to pull his shit together. Totally doable.

As he strips out of his boxers and steps into the shower, he does his best to ignore how skeptical Mirror-Dex looks. 

* * *

Derek tries to go back to sleep, honestly he does. But it’s colder in the bed with just him, not to mention that the blanket and pillow both smell like Dex and his cock is way more interested in that than in letting him sleep. When he hears the shower start, he gives up, reaching into his boxers and curling his hand around his cock, sighing a little with the relief of skin on skin.

Hyperaware of the fact that he might not have much time (Dex is wildly variable in the amount of time he spends in the shower. They’re teammates. It’s  _ not weird _ that Derek knows this), he does his best to bring back the dream he was having before he was forced into the waking world. 

To be honest, though, at this point it’s less of a dream and more of a recurring fantasy, although his subconscious had let itself go in a way that awake Derek could never quite believe in. They’d been in bed together in the dream, too, but it had been a plush king-size with a thick comforter, piled high with pillows, and they’d been naked. 

Derek had drifted slowly into waking, pressed up against Dex’s back, kissing his neck, and Dex had sighed, arching back into him. Derek can practically taste Dex’s skin on his lips, feel the curve of Dex’s ass press against his cock. He jerks himself faster, imagining that it’s Dex’s cock under his hand, that they’re moving together, a sweet, lazy climb toward orgasm. 

In the bathroom, the shower turns off. It’s the mental image of Dex opening the door, seeing him there, jerking off, that has Derek coming, almost blinded with the force of it.

He slinks out of bed and into the bathroom when Dex is bent over his bag, hoping he’s fast enough the other boy doesn’t notice the wet spot on his boxers.

* * *

Breakfast is a little quiet, but that’s probably because they’re both too busy stuffing their faces to talk. Derek may have gone a little overboard on the cooking, but they’re only here for another two days, and there’s enough bacon and eggs in the fridge to feed the entire team, so he figures what the hell. He absolutely is not trying to compensate for jerking off while thinking about his teammate. Not even a little bit

“You know,” Dex says when his plate is about three-quarters empty, “I can’t believe they sent us out here like that. We’re not that bad, are we?”

“We’ve been here for over twelve hours and we haven’t had a fight,” Derek agrees, doing his best to ignore the specific memories that are trying to force their way into his brain.

Dex points his fork at Derek. “Exactly. You know, it’d serve them right if we came back and pretended we were dating.”

Derek almost sprays his coffee across the room, but he manages to swallow before laughing. “Jesus. Can you imagine their faces?”

“I can’t decide if Ransom and Holster would be thrilled or appalled,” Dex muses, his whole face lighting up with his smile.

“Chowder would freak the fuck out,” Derek says. “He’d be so happy. And Bitty would probably bake us a congratulatory pie.”

“But we couldn’t do that,” Dex sighs, returning his attention to his plate. He looks up again when Derek doesn’t agree with him. “Could we?”

“They did say they want us to get along better,” Derek says slowly. Almost every part of his brain is screaming at him that this is a terrible idea, but it’s taken on a horrible momentum and he can’t seem to stop talking. “So if we pretended to date for six weeks, say--”

“We could just pretend to be nauseatingly into each other,” Dex crows, and his eyes are so bright. Derek is willing to do any number of really stupid things to keep that look on Dex’s face. 

“Are we doing this?” he asks, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

“I’m in if you are,” Dex says.

Derek opens his mouth to say no, to say it’s a terrible idea, to say anything that will stop this from happening.

“I’m in,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite (or perhaps because of) being surrounded by pyros for many years of my life, I've never had to start a fire, much less in a wood stove. Everything here is based on [this article](http://www.motherearthnews.com/homesteading-and-livestock/how-to-start-a-woodstove-fire-zbcz1403.aspx) from Mother Earth News.


	3. Foolish Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Dex and Nursey are going to pull off pretending to date, they should get used to touching each other. And kissing each other. And pet names. And strategically placed hickeys are important for verisimilitude. Right? Right. It's the only way.
> 
> (aka, these two oblivious idiots continue to be oblivious, and the author continues to be mean to them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah....warnings for Nursey ogling shirtless Dex, blushing Dex, really vivid fantasies, and both boys being suspiciously enthusiastic about carrying off this fake-dating ruse.

Dex realizes pretty quickly that he did not think through all the possible implications of this plan.

“We need to what?” he asks incredulously, certain he misheard. Nursey couldn’t have possibly said--

“We need to practice kissing. And holding hands. Touching each other. Things that couples do,” Nursey said, his jaw set stubbornly. “Nobody’s going to believe we’re dating if we never touch each other.”

Dex rubs a hand through his hair. He might legitimately die from this (Here lies William J. Poindexter, dead from kissing Derek Nurse). “Okay, I’ll give you the touching and hand holding. But do we really have to practice kissing?”

Nursey crosses his arms. “Someone will notice if we don’t. And depending on who it is, they’ll either start chirping us until we kiss in front of them, or they’ll come up with increasingly elaborate rom-com-style plans to get us to kiss. Besides,” he continues relentlessly over Dex’s groan, “the entire point is to be sickeningly all over each other. Making out is going to be required at some point; at kegsters if nowhere else.”

Dex examines the logic from every angle and finds no flaws. “You’re right,” he admits. “So how should we do this?”

“Probably start small?” Nursey suggests, covering Dex’s hand with his own where it rests on the table. “Like this?”

A part of Dex is still so mired in pretending not to be desperately into Derek Nurse that he wants to jerk his hand away and stalk out of the house, but the entire point of this exercise is for him to get past that impulse. So he forces it down, stays in his chair, and laces his fingers with Nursey’s.

Mostly it’s strange how it isn’t strange. Nursey’s longer fingers fit nicely between Dex’s shorter, thicker ones, their palms pressed together. It doesn’t feel weird, like it sometimes does when you hold someone’s hand for the first time. They just...they fit, like they do on the ice.

“Okay,” Dex says, because it seems like someone should say something. “Holding hands, check.”

“Right,” Nursey says, staring at their joined hands. “I guess we should, uh, kiss?”

“Smooth, Nurse,” Dex chirps him gently, because that’s better than acknowledging the combination of anticipation and anxiety in his gut. “Moves like that, bet you get all the guys, huh?”

To his surprise, Nursey flushes (now that Dex knows what to look for it’s pretty clear) and drops his eyes. “I, uh, I’ve never actually dated a guy before,” he admits, still not meeting Dex’s gaze.

“Shit, are you straight?” Dex asks, barely restraining the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Apparently Nursey just removes all filters between his brain and his mouth. “Dude, you don’t have to...if you’re not comfortable with this, we don’t have to--”

“No!” Nursey interrupts, finally making eye contact again. “I’m, well, I haven’t really worked everything out, but I’m definitely not straight. I just, I’ve never met a guy I was interested in that was interested back. So, like I said, I’ve never dated a guy.”

Dex feels like that’s a lie, or at least inaccurate, because Nursey looks completely serious. Like maybe he’s gotten shot down by guys before. Which is blatantly ridiculous, because what idiot with eyes in their head would turn down Derek Nurse?

“Okay,” he says slowly. “But if we do anything that you’re even a little uncomfortable with, you have to tell me, all right? I’m not gonna do this otherwise.”

“Okay,” Nursey echoes, smiling that little smile that makes Dex crazy. “Promise.”

“Good,” Dex says firmly. “But kissing’s pretty much the same whether you’re kissing a guy or a girl. The stubble takes a little bit of getting used to, though.”

Nursey’s eyes widen, and Dex feels himself smirking. “You didn’t think I was straight, did you?” he chirps, because this is the best opportunity he’s had in months. “Haven’t been paying much attention then, Nurse.”

“You haven’t dated anyone since we came to Samwell!” Nursey protests. “How was I supposed to know?”

Dex shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t looked. Aren’t writers supposed to be observant?”

Nursey’s too busy sputtering to notice Dex standing up from his chair. He notices pretty quickly when Dex tugs him up out of his own chair, though. They’re so close, only inches apart, so close that they’re breathing each other’s air, so close that Dex can see the gray and gold in Nursey’s eyes. 

Nursey licks his lips, drawing Dex’s eyes to them, full and slightly parted and wet from his tongue. It’s not like he’s never noticed Nursey’s mouth before, but now it’s like it’s the only thing he can see. Dex’s hands are framing Nursey’s face before he realizes they’ve moved, and they both sway even closer to each other. 

“Is this okay?” Dex asks softly, because he needs to know that, even more than he needs to kiss Nursey right now.

“Yeah,” Nursey breathes, and Dex closes the distance between them almost before his lips are done shaping the word.

When Dex thinks about kissing Nursey (and thinks, and thinks, and thinks), he’s always pictured it being in the heat of the moment. Maybe they’re arguing, or maybe chirping each other. Maybe Nursey won’t shut up so Dex pushes him up against a wall and kisses him until he doesn’t want to talk any longer.

But this is Nursey’s first kiss with a guy, and for once he’s not insanely confident and chill. So Dex kisses him gently, touching their lips together, letting the pressure of the kiss part them slowly. He catches Nursey’s lower lip between his, sucking it lightly into his mouth and just barely scraping his teeth over it, and is rewarded when Nursey shivers under his hands.

They separate, both breathing heavily. “Okay?” Nursey asks. His hands have somehow found their way to Dex’s hips, and his finger tighten when Dex shifts his weight.

“Yeah,” Dex says. “Again?”

By way of answer Nursey leans back in. This time the kiss is a little more confident, a little more urgent. When Dex’s lips part, Nursey’s tongue licks into his mouth and the kiss goes from confident to searing. Dex isn’t sure which of them moans into the kiss first, but the next thing he knows, they’re moving, crossing the few feet between the table and the bed. 

Dex falls back when his knees hit the bed and Nursey follows him down, straddling him and bringing their mouths back together before they’ve spent more than a few seconds separated. His hands slide up from Dex’s waist, pushing up the hem of his shirt, and it’s Dex’s turn to shiver at the feeling of Nursey’s fingers against his stomach, smooth skin and the slight roughness of callouses.

With the few brain cells he still has working, Dex lets his hands slide down from Nursey’s face to his neck, rubbing his thumbs just under Nursey’s ears. Nursey groans, grinding down against Dex. He’s hard, and so is Dex, and even through their jeans, it’s one of the best things Dex has ever felt. He tears his mouth away to catch his breath, and Nursey’s grumble of protest turns into a moan as Dex nuzzles along his jaw. 

When Dex reaches a spot that makes Nursey shake above him, he can’t quite resist lingering, sucking on the skin until he knows there’ll be a mark. His mark, for anyone who looks. For the next six weeks, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Derek Nurse is taken, and no matter how much Dex tells himself it’s not real, that satisfies a deep, dark part of himself that he doesn’t like to acknowledge.

When he pulls back to admire his handiwork, though, it gives him enough distance for second thoughts, and third thoughts to creep in. “Okay?” he asks, forcing himself to meet Nursey’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Nursey says, “but...maybe we should take a break?”

Dex makes his hands loosen their hold where they’re clinging to Nursey’s hips (how did they get there?) and Nursey rolls to the side. 

“So yeah,” he says after a few minutes of them lying side by side, just breathing. “For the record? Definitely not straight.”

“I think I might have picked up on that,” Dex says, because what else can he say.  _ No shit, I figured that out about the time your dick started rubbing up against mine; maybe we should try it again without the pants _ ?

Nursey smacks him in the chest, but without the force it would usually have. Plus he leaves his hand there afterward, resting gently on Dex’s chest. If he can feel the thud of Dex’s heart under his hand, he doesn’t say anything. 

“We should try that again before we leave,” Nursey finally says. “Maybe more than once.”

“Somebody’s going to want deets,” Dex agrees. “But I should probably go chop some more wood for the stove first. Not sure we have enough to last until Rans and Holster come pick us up. Wanna help?”

Nursey quirks an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously asking me to pick up an axe and attempt to hit things with it?”

Dex shudders, his mind full of gory mental images. “Yeah, never mind. You can watch. From a long way away.”

“I should probably get some practice ogling my boyfriend,” Nursey says, batting his eyelashes at Dex. “Think you’ll take off your shirt?”

* * *

When Dex takes off his shirt, he steadfastly refuses to look at Derek, picking up the axe and swinging at the chunk of wood standing up on a stump in the clearing. Of course, this means that Derek has no need to look away from the flexing muscles of Dex’s arms and back as he swings the axe, the way the sweat covering his torso glistens in the sunlight.

“Looking good, babe,” he calls, both because it’s true and because he’s pretty sure it’ll get Dex to look at him, if only to glare. He’s right, but the glare isn’t anything near Dex’s best effort.

“Babe?” Dex asks, walking over to the small porch where Nursey is sitting and picking up his glass of water. He takes a long drink, his throat moving as he swallows. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Got any other suggestions?” Derek asks. He curls his fingers into his palms to keep from touching, before he remembers that he’s allowed to touch. Encouraged, even. He drags a fingertip down Dex’s abs, watching them ripple as Dex sucks in a breath, and Derek  _ wants.  _

He wants to lean in and trace every ridge of muscle with his tongue, taste the salt on Dex’s skin. He wants to follow the trail of red-gold hair that disappears under Dex’s jeans. He wants to undo the button and pull the zipper down with his teeth and get his mouth on Dex’s cock. He’s pretty much at eye level with Dex’s crotch here, sitting on the low porch. Dex could just slide his hands into Derek’s hair and fuck his mouth, and even though Derek knows trying something like that for his first time wouldn’t be a good idea, the mental picture has his mouth watering and his cock hard in his pants.

“ _ Derek, _ ” Dex says, in the tone that means he’s been trying to get Derek’s attention for a few minutes. “Earth to Nursey. You back with me now, or you wanna stare at my dick for a few more minutes?”

The honest answer is yes, but Derek can’t say that, because they’re not really in a relationship, so he goes for the chirp instead. “But it’s just so pretty,” he says, simpering up at Dex. “I can’t look away.”

Dex blushes, and Derek watches in amazement as the color spreads down his neck and across his chest. “Whatever,” he mutters, crossing back to where he left the axe.

“I think every part of you is pretty, sweetheart,” Derek calls after him.

Dex flips him off with both hands without even looking back. There’s probably something wrong with Derek finding that adorable, but he’s too happy to worry about it.

* * *

Dex is standing at the sink when Nursey comes up behind him, sliding long arms around Dex’s waist and hooking his chin over Dex’s shoulder. “Relax, babe” he says, snuggling into Dex’s back. “Nobody’s going to buy it if you’re stiff as a board when I touch you.”

Dex sighs, letting himself lean back a little, relax into Nursey’s solid warmth. It’s simultaneously the easiest and the hardest thing he’s ever done.  All he has to do is exactly what he wants to do--as long as he remembers it isn’t real. 

“What are we going to tell them?” he asks, trying to distract himself from his current quandary. “I don’t want to out-and-out lie.”

“You’re willing to pretend to be dating me for six weeks, but you’re not willing to come right out and say you are?” Nursey’s voice is incredulous.

Dex can’t really blame him for his skepticism, but he can’t explain, either. Not without admitting what he’s coming suspect is the pathetic truth; that he came up with this entire idea just for a chance to kiss Derek Nurse. He shrugs his shoulders, rinsing the plate in his hands.

Nursey shakes his head, his curls brushing against the side of Dex’s face. “Whatever, man. We might not actually have to say anything. Just be all coupley in front of them and see how long it takes them to notice.”

“Not long,” Dex predicts, setting the plate in the dish rack and unstopping the sink, letting most of the water drain out before rinsing it with the sprayer. He wrings out the dishcloth and drapes it over the center between the two basins to dry, all with Nursey attached to his back. “They’re really nosey. Like, I think Shitty could give some of the ladies back home lessons, and Ransom and Holster might actually be worse.”

“For real,” Nursey agrees, his breath gusting distractingly against Dex’s neck. “But if you’re not comfortable with this, dude, we don’t have to. We can just go back and be normal. No harm, no foul.”

Dex frowns. As sure as he is that he’s probably not coming out of this with his heart intact, he doesn’t want to stop. In the course of a day, he’s gotten addicted to kissing Nursey, touching Nursey, having Nursey in his space. He doesn’t want to stop. “I’m good. But if you don’t want to--”

“I’m good,” Nursey echoes, and Dex’s stomach relaxes from it’s tight clench. 

“Good,” he echoes, turning in Nursey’s arms, and kissing him lightly. Because he can. Because someday soon he won’t be able to, so right now he’s going to take every chance he can get.

* * *

Derek spits in the bathroom sink and rinses his toothbrush. As he straightens up and catches his reflection in the mirror, he can’t stop himself from pressing his fingers into the bruise Dex left there.

“Jesus fuck, Dex,” he calls through the open bathroom door. “Think you left a big enough hickey? We won’t have to tell anyone we’re dating; when they see this they’re gonna assume we spent the whole weekend fucking like bunnies.”

“I don’t remember any complaints at the time,” Dex calls back from where he’s stretched out on the bed, already in his t-shirt and boxers.

Derek’s stomach does a slow roll at the lazy arrogance in Dex’s voice; he shakes his head at his reflection. “I’m just saying, man,” he complains as he leaves the bathroom. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Dex turns his head and smiles at Derek. “You want a chance to mark me up, Nurse?”

“Hell, yeah,” Derek breathes, crossing the few feet between the bathroom and the bed. He crawls up Dex’s body in what he hopes is a halfway attractive way. He’s rewarded with Dex’s eyes darkening, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his hands fisting in the blanket

Derek leans down and brushes his lips over Dex’s (he’s never going to get over how surprisingly soft they are), over his cheek, his jaw. Dex’s stubble is rough under his mouth, and Derek can’t resist catching Dex’s earlobe between his teeth. He smiles when Dex makes a noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head to give Derek better access.

“If we really want to sell this,” he murmurs against Dex’s skin, “one hickey isn’t going to cut it.” He kisses his way down Dex’s neck until he can dip his tongue under the neck of Dex’s t-shirt. Dex makes that noise again, low and raw and wanting, and Derek bites down just to hear it again before he starts to suck. He can feel Dex shaking underneath him, tiny little tremors, and it feels amazing.

Derek pulls back to inspect his handiwork. The hickey is a muted purple against Dex’s pale skin, a tiny cloud blotting out the freckle constellations. 

“Happy now?” Dex asks, but his voice is thick and rough, not at all like his normal irritated tone. “Dude, what are you doing?”

Derek shrugs, pushing Dex’s t-shirt slowly up to his armpits. “Like I said. One hickey’s not gonna to cut it.”

Before Dex can do more than start to sputter a protest, Derek slides down and runs his tongue over the hard swell of Dex’s pec, tracing a line from freckle to freckle. He picks a random spot and sucks, working the skin with his tongue. Dex arches up under him, almost dislodging him, so Derek gets his hands on Dex’s shoulders and pushes him back down to the bed. Dex makes the most obscene sound, going pliant under Derek’s hands. Derek has to stop for a minute, pressing his forehead to Dex’s stomach, before moving down to suck one more mark onto the crest of Dex’s hipbone and sitting back to admire his handiwork.

“Are you done?” Dex asks, shifting a little under Derek’s gaze. 

“Probably,” Derek says, letting go of Dex’s shoulders. It seems like Dex follows his hands up off the bed for a second, but Derek squelches that line of thought before he gets too involved in it. “We’re a little uneven now. You want a turn?”

“Sure,” Dex says, his voice clearer. He tugs Derek’s shirt up over his head in one efficient motion, then pulls his own off and tosses it to the floor. He pushes Derek down onto the bed and presses his lips to the hickey already on Derek’s neck. “Any requests?”

“Nah, man,” Derek says. He tries for breezy chill, but he’s pretty sure his voice betrays him as Dex’s mouth lands on his collarbone. “Do what you feel.” 

Dex takes him at his word, sucking matching marks onto either side of his collarbone. By the time he’s done, Derek is squirming underneath him, trying desperately to find some friction, and they’re both breathing hard. Dex lifts his head, his eyes big and dark, and Derek fists his hands in Dex’s curls and drags him up to kiss him. For a minute there, it seems like they might just forget about the whole thing being fake and slide right into real, actual sex, but then Dex rolls onto his own pillow and Derek tries not to feel cold and lonely from the loss.

“Good enough?” Dex asks.

Derek rolls his head to the side to admire the marks blooming on Dex’s pale skin, still vivid even against the pink flush. “Yeah, man. We might not have to say anything.”

Dex nods, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “Okay.”

* * *

In the end, they’re making out on one of the dining chairs, Dex straddling Nursey, kissing long and slow and filthy, when the door to the cabin bangs open and Ransom and Holster burst into the room, skidding to a stop with an almost audible double-take.

“Well,” Holster says finally. “I guess that’s one way for d-men to get closer?”

“Bro,” Ransom says. “I’m just glad they’re not dead. It was so quiet.”

Oddly, the ride home isn’t as awkward as Dex expected. Or maybe he’s just distracted by Nursey holding his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the response to this fic has been incredible! Thanks so much to everyone who's commented, left kudos, and shared; you guys make me so happy!!!


	4. Drown In Your Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys settle into the routine of pretending to be together while back at Samwell. It's hard to remember that you're just pretending to be boyfriends when the other person is just really good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [_Wild_ by Troye Sivan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3awzvNrKDsg).
> 
> So raspberrycordial/dianabarry and I collaborated on a playlist for this fic, and you can find it [here.](https://play.spotify.com/user/librarianofdoom/playlist/12TQAMvb5J0Sn9NvhiyOIN) Feel free to suggest other songs that remind you of Nursey and Dex if you like, and I may add them to the list if I feel like they fit this fic. 
> 
> I blame any mental anguish caused by the pining and UST in this fic on Faeleverte, who taught me everything I know about being mean to imaginary characters and who is the first person to introduce me to this fandom. So really, it's all her fault.

Derek slides into his chair at team breakfast with his eyes still mostly closed. 

“Morning, Nursey,” Chowder carols from across the table. 

Derek opens his mouth to reply, really he does, but all that comes out is an unintelligible mumble. 

“Practice yesterday was swawesome!” Chowder continues, his enthusiasm as undeterred as always by Derek’s complete lack of verbal ability in the mornings. “Jack had this one shot and I didn’t think I was gonna block it but I went for it anyway…”

A cup of coffee materializes on the table in front of Derek, inside the curled circle of his hands. All he has to do is tighten his grip and lift it to his mouth, which he manages to do without pouring it into his lap.

The coffee is just the way he likes it, creamy and sweet enough to cut the bitterness. Derek only barely manages to keep from making pornographic noises as he drinks down half the cup in one gulp.

By the time he drains the cup, a tray is sitting on the table in front of him, plate piled with an omelet, bacon, and toast, small bowl of fresh fruit and bigger bowl of oatmeal on the side. “Thanks, babe,” he mumbles, hooking his foot behind Dex’s ankle.

“Just didn’t want you to break yourself walking across the dining hall before coffee,” Dex chirps, but his tone is fond. He reaches over to snag the strawberries out of the Derek’s bowl of fruit. “We need you undamaged if you’re gonna play this weekend, not with a broken leg from tripping over somebody’s chair.”

“Just so I can play, huh?” Derek can’t resist teasing back. It’s completely worth it to watch Dex’s face flush that beautiful pink color. 

“Wow!” Chowder says from across the table, and Derek’s brutally reminded that they aren’t alone in a cabin anymore. Pretty much everyone is ignoring them in favor of their own breakfasts, but Chowder is watching them with the rapt expression of a kid whose mom and dad are actually getting back together. “You guys are really happy, huh?”

“I’d be happier if we hadn’t missed practice yesterday,” Dex answers, his voice still tart, but he drapes his arm along the back of Derek’s chair.

Derek leans into him, unable to resist being closer, and steals a bite of Dex’s muffin. “C’mon, babe, you know it was worth it.”

“Yeah,” Dex admits, his voice softening. “I’m really happy.”

“Me, too,” Derek agrees, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss to Dex’s lips. It’s not a lie, either; not for him. In this moment, surrounded by their team, with Dex’s arm around him, he’s happier than he’s been in years.

* * *

“Dex, Nursey, nice work today,” Jack says, clapping them on the shoulders as they’re piling back into the locker room after practice.

He’s right, and Dex feels himself glow a little from the praise. He and Nursey have always played well together, whatever their differences off the ice, but now everything clicks, like magic. He just knows where Nursey is, like he knows where his right hand is--

“For real, bros,” Shitty agrees, grabbing them in what’s either a hug or a headlock (with Shitty it’s sometimes hard to be sure. “We should’ve locked you guys in a cabin in the woods weeks ago. Or maybe a closet. Now that you’ve acknowledged the beauty of your love, nothing can stop you!” 

Bitty slides past them, somehow managing to magically disengage Shitty and bring him along. “Leave them alone, Shitty,” he scolds gently. “They don’t want to feel like the team is pressuring them about their relationship.”

Dex catches Bitty’s eye and mouths “Thank you” at him. Bitty winks back, distracting Shitty with a story about something he’d seen the lax bros doing the day before, sending Shitty off into an impassioned rant that will probably involve diagrams at some point

Nursey sags into Dex’s side a little, and Dex wraps his arm around Nursey’s waist automatically. “You okay?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nursey breathes, barely audible through the clamor of the locker room. “I--yeah, I’m fine.”

Dex steers him toward his stall, keeping his voice low. Thankfully, everyone seems to assume they’re having a relationship moment and ignores them in favor of the usual post-practice chirping, so he’s able to get Nursey to his stall and sitting down without serious incident. “Seriously, though. You kinda went pale. You didn’t think the guys were gonna be dicks about this, did you?”

“Not really,” Nursey says. “I just...it’s scary. I knew it was scary, but I never really--I never had to feel it like that.”

“Yeah,” Dex says, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. “I’d like to tell you it gets less scary.”

Nursey closes his eyes, letting his head fall to the side and his cheek rest against Dex’s hand. “Fuck.”

Dex nods. There’s not much else to say. Well, except one thing. “But you know it’s gonna be fine here, right? We’ve got your back.”

“Damn right,” Ransom says, and Holster fistbumps him without looking.

Nursey’s smile is watery, but it’s so bright Dex can ignore the way Lardo is studying them from across the room, her eyes thoughtful.

* * *

When Dex gets out of his Data Structures class, Nursey is leaning against the low brick wall outside the building, looking like he’s modeling for some incredibly yuppie New England publication in his button-down and jeans and beanie. He looks up and sees Dex, his eyes warming as he smiles, and Dex can’t stop himself from smiling back any more than he could stop the sun from coming up in the east.

“How was class?” Nursey asks, falling into step beside Dex and linking their hands together.

“Oh, you know,” Dex says inanely. His head is too busy with the feeling of Nursey’s fingers between his to focus on such trivialities as the class he just finished. “It was fine. What are you doing here?”

“Thought we could grab lunch, since we both have a break,” Nursey says. 

Dex blinks; sure enough, they’re headed for the student center. Right on cue, his stomach grumbles loudly. “Good call.”

It’s such a nice day that they take their sandwiches to the Beach, sitting under a tree and eating in comfortable silence.  Dex finishes his food first, which gives him time to sit there and watch Nursey eat the last of his chicken salad sandwich. It’s warm enough that he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt at some point, so Dex gets to watch all those muscles flex. He has a sudden, visceral memory of what it felt like to be held down, pressed into the bed by Nursey’s big, capable hands.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Nursey looks up at him, eyes widening as he swallows the last of his sandwich. “You okay?” he asks, shifting close enough to set a hand on Dex’s knee.

Dex has to clear his throat to be sure his voice won’t crack. “Yeah,” he manages. “I’m just--I’m fine.”

“You’re blushing,” Nursey murmurs. “What are you thinking about, babe?”

“Nothing,” Dex insists, but he can feel his face get hotter. 

Nursey quirks a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, but Dex shakes his head. It’s going to take more than that to get him to crack.

“I love it when you blush,” Nursey confides, leaning close enough that his lips are brushing Dex’s ear. His hand slides up from Dex’s knee a little; it’s nowhere inappropriate for public, but definitely in thigh territory. “It makes me crazy. I want to peel your clothes off and see how far down it goes this time. I want to see if the pink places taste any different.”

“Jesus fuck, Nurse,” Dex mutters, doing his best to take deep, even breaths. “You can’t just  _ say _ shit like that.”

Nursey shrugs. “Even if it’s the truth?”

In this moment, Dex mentally curses every stupid decision that brought them to this place. If this was real, if Derek was really his boyfriend, it would be so easy to drag his hand up the few inches to where Dex’s cock is already half-hard in his jeans. So easy to pull him down into the leaves and make out until someone came by and made them move. So easy to skip their afternoon classes and slip back to the dorms for slow, leisurely sex. Or fast, frantic sex. Or any kind of sex, really.

But it’s not real. Derek doesn’t want Dex, he’s just really good at pretending. Better than Dex, for sure, because Dex isn’t pretending. 

It’s been a long enough silence at this point that it’s not weird to chance the subject, so Dex does, because he’s a wuss. “This was nice,” he says, because it’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “We should do it again tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nursey agrees, shifting his hand back down to Dex’s knee. “But we can’t on Thursday; my lunch break is at noon, but yours isn’t till one and I have class then.”

“I think we’ll survive if we can’t have lunch together one day a week,” Dex says as dryly as he can.

“Maybe,” Nursey allows. “But we should probably have real dates, too, if we can work them around games. Like we take turns picking them?”

“Fine,” Dex says, because this he can do. He can be a fucking amazing boyfriend. “But we need a price limit, to keep it fair.”

Nursey rolls his eyes. “Fine. Twenty?”

Dex does some quick math. “Yeah, I can do twenty.”

“Chill,” Nursey says, leaning over to kiss Dex, slow and sweet, until Dex feels like he’s melting into Derek’s hands. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against Dex’s and they just sit there for a minute, breathing each other’s air. 

For one endless moment, it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist. But all too soon, Nursey sighs and pulls away. “I’d better get to class,” he says softly, pushing to his feet and reaching a hand down for Dex. “Nothing like Brit Lit I after lunch to put me to sleep.”

“You love it,” Dex says, letting Nursey pull him up to standing. They’re so close that he leans in to kiss Nursey again, just because he can.

Nursey ducks his head, his mouth curving into a tiny, secret smile. “I do,” he admits. “It’s all a bunch of old white people, mostly dudes, most of whom were major dicks, but some of them really knew their shit.”

“Have fun,” Dex says, reluctantly letting go and stepping away. “See you at practice?”

“You know it,” Nursey agrees, darting in for one more kiss before turning away to grab his backpack. “Miss you already, babe!” he calls over his shoulder as he heads off to the English building.

Dex shakes his head as he gathers his own things, doing his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks and the little ache in his heart.

* * *

Derek’s pulling his phone out to text Dex, to try to figure out what they want to do for lunch, when he trips on the steps outside the front door of the English building and feels himself start to flail. He’s just about resigned himself to curling protectively around his phone and hoping for minimal bruising when a strong hand wraps around his upper arm and pulls him upright again.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Dex says in his ear, warm and amused.

Derek tucks his phone back in his pocket and leans in for a kiss. “My hero,” he coos, fluttering his eyelashes at Dex. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Try not breaking a leg until after the season’s over,” Dex retorts, but his hand slides down to meet Derek’s, fingers lacing together like they’ve done it a thousand times. “I’d hate to have to break in another d-man.”

“I’d hate to inflict you on anyone else,” Derek agrees sweetly. “What’s in the bag?”

Dex looks blankly at the bag in his other hand for a minute. “Oh, uh. The food truck with the bahn mi was parked over on the North Quad, so I got you a pulled pork bahn mi and some kimchi fries.”

Derek uses their linked hands to pull Dex back in for a kiss. It’s probably a little too intense of a kiss for the middle of South Quad, with all the people going to and from their classes flowing around them, but he can’t help it. The fact that Dex remembers his favorite order and brought it to him has a warm, soft feeling swelling up in Derek’s chest that he can’t contain, but he can’t talk about it, because none of this is real. So he pours it all into the kiss, every inappropriately real thing he feels for this person who’s not really into him, and counts himself lucky that the worst thing that happens is a couple of wolf whistles from passersby. 

“You’re the best boyfriend,” he says softly when their lips part. 

Dex ducks his head, his ears flushing. “Not like you have any basis for comparison here, Nurse, since you’ve never had a boyfriend before.” 

Derek shakes his head. “Even if I’d had a hundred boyfriends, I’m pretty sure you’d still be the best.”

Dex’s entire face goes pink, the color flowing down his neck and under the collar of his t-shirt. He’s still a little flushed by the time they finish eating their lunch, and Derek can’t stop touching him, feeling the warmth of it on his fingers like a fire that might keep him warm once this is all over.

* * *

Dex isn’t  _ trying _ to intimidate people into getting out of his way as he strides angrily across campus to the Haus, but he’s aware that that’s probably what’s happening. Nobody wants to get in the way of the 6’2” hockey defenseman. Realistically, even if they do try, they’ll probably just bounce off; he’s put on a lot of muscle since the start of the semester, and he was a solid 175 then.

Everything has felt off about this particular Thursday for some reason. There’s no single moment he can point to, nothing that went wrong to throw him into this mood, but it’s been like the old cartoons, like a dark cloud hovering over his head the entire day, ever since he left practice and went to his first class. The only thing that’s been getting him through the last two hours is the hope that Bitty has made some pie today; really, his odds on that are pretty good, but he can’t escape the feeling of impending doom.

So when he steps into the kitchen and sees the pie plates in the sink, empty except for a few scattered crumbs, Dex is closer to crying than he’s been in years. No one else is in the kitchen, and for a minute he considers just turning around and going to his dorm. But he knows from experience that he’ll only get worse if he’s alone, brooding and sulking until he works himself into a mood that lasts all week or even longer, so he pushes through into the living room, looking for company. 

“Hey, babe,” Nurse says, looking up from the notebook he was scribbling in, his lips curved in Dex’s favorite smile, his green eyes lighting up (or maybe that’s just his green henley that makes them look so bright).

It’s completely unfair how Nursey even manages to look good tucked into the corner of that shitty green couch. Dex wants to resent it, wants to be angry, but he can’t. He drops onto the other end of the couch with a long, drawn-out sigh, but he already feels better. Like just being in the Haus is making everything fit back into place.

“Bad day?” Nursey asks, tucking his toes under Dex’s leg. “What happened?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nothing, really. Just one of those days, you know? When everything sucks and you don’t know why?”

“Yeah,” Nursey agrees, reaching down to the floor next to him and producing a small plastic container. “Good thing I saved you some pie, huh?”

“You--” Dex takes the container from Nursey’s hands automatically and opens it to reveal a double slice of buttermilk pie. “You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact because he feels like he’s about to cry for the second time that day. 

“I know,” Nursey says simply, handing him a fork. “I wanted to.”

Nursey goes back to whatever he was writing and Dex eats his pie, savoring each carefully measured bite, letting the creamy sweetness melt on his tongue. When he’s finally finished, he takes the dishes into the kitchen, where Bitty accepts them and his compliments on the pie with a sweet smile before politely shooing him back out.

He gets back to the couch just in time to see Chowder plop down into the corner where he’d been sitting, but Nursey scrunches further back into his own corner to make room for Dex in the middle, and then immediately stretches his legs out over Dex’s lap as soon as he sits.

Dex does his best to ignore the way Lardo is side-eyeing them from her seat across the room (when she decides she has something to say, he’s sure he’ll hear about it). It’s surprisingly easy to get distracted by working with Chowder on the project for their algorithms class, Nursey’s legs a solid, comforting weight across his thighs.

He doesn’t even realize that his free hand is resting on Nursey’s ankle, thumb rubbing absently over the skin, until Nursey’s hand lands on the back of Dex’s neck. It’s like a circuit closing, the sudden awareness of all the places they’re touching, and all the ways they could be touching. Nursey’s thumb presses lightly on Dex’s shoulder, on the same spot where a fading purple mark still hides under Dex’s t-shirt, and Dex shudders. 

Dex is incredibly grateful for Nursey’s legs over his lap, because he’s instantly, achingly hard, and he does not need to know what Chowder’s reaction to that would be. Of course, any hope he has that Nursey didn’t notice goes out the window pretty quickly when Nursey shifts his legs oh-so-casually and makes sure he’s pressing his calf directly against Dex’s cock. Dex swallows hard, glancing over at Nursey. The other boy’s eyes are fixed on his notebook, but one corner of his mouth is tipped up in a smirk that would normally have Dex seeing red. 

_ Oh, it’s so on. _

Dex taps his pen cap lightly against his teeth for a second before sucking it into his mouth, bobbing it in and out as if lost in thought. He’s rewarded with a sharp inhale from his right and the hand on the back of his neck tightens, fingertips pressing into the muscle. He has to close his eyes for a minute; it’s taking every bit of willpower he has right now not to just fucking beg. Fortunately, Lardo has wandered off, and Chowder is completely oblivious to what’s happening next to him.

“Oh!” Chowder says, shifting over a little to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Um, Farmer wants me to meet her for dinner?”

“Go on,” Dex says, grateful that his voice sounds almost normal. “We’re at a good stopping point for now. We can work on it again tomorrow on the way to the roadie.”

“Swawesome!” Chowder bounces up off the couch. “Thanks, Dex! Bye, Nursey!”

As soon as he hears the front door close, Dex gets two fistfuls of Nursey’s henley and pulls until he has a lapful of hockey player. Nursey wastes no time crushing their mouths together in a hot, frantic kiss, and Dex can’t stop himself from opening to it even as he’s grinding up against Nursey, desperate for some friction.

There’s no telling how far it would have gone if not for Bitty’s disapproving throat-clearing. They don’t exactly jump apart, but Nursey does lift his head, letting Dex sag back against the couch.

“Really, y’all?” Bitty asks. Dex feels himself flushing, grateful that Bitty is behind him so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “That couch is  _ filthy _ . You have dorm rooms with perfectly good beds.”

Nursey smiles at Bitty over Dex’s shoulder. “What makes you think the beds are any better, Bitty?”

“At least there are sheets on the beds,” Bitty retorts. “Don’t you sass me, Derek Nurse. You two get off that couch before you catch something.”

“Yes, sir!” Nursey says, standing up and pulling Dex with him. “C’mon, babe, we’ve got our orders.”

Nursey holds his hand all the way across campus, even when there’s no one around to see, and Dex can’t bring himself to point it out. He pushes Dex up against the wall outside his dorm room door, kissing him deep and wet and filthy, and sucks another mark on top of the fading one on Dex’s shoulder before Dex finally makes it inside the door.

Dex can taste the invitation behind his teeth, the desire to throw caution to the wind and finally pull Derek into his room, into his bed, to let him strip Dex down and take him apart. As it is, all it takes is a few rough strokes and a replay of Derek’s weight pinning him to the wall and Dex is coming so hard his vision whites out for a minute.

He cleans up and goes to bed, doing his best not to wonder how he’s going to survive another five weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by the response to this fic! Your comments and kind words are just so amazing. Thank you to everyone who's taken a few minutes out of their day to let me know that they liked it.


	5. Bend and Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go on a roadie, Dex plans their first "real" date, and Derek starts to realize just exactly how much trouble he's in.
> 
> Or, competitive boyfriending and these two idiots making out some more for no good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title (again) from [Wild by Troye Sivan,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3awzvNrKDsg) which I may or may not have listened to on repeat approximately 10,000 times while writing this chapter.
> 
> Last chapter was kind of heavy on the Dex POV, so now we get more of Nursey's! 
> 
> My deepest apologies for how long it took to get this chapter up and posted. I have another fic due this month for the Marvel Big Bang and I was woefully behind, so I had to shift my focus for a little bit. Updates will still be coming, just a little slower than originally planned. But I promise not to leave you (or our boys) hanging forever!

“Dex! Nursey!” Lardo tosses them a set of key cards in a little paper envelope, and Derek snags them out of the air. “Room 524. Go get some sleep.”

Shitty snorts, Ransom and Holster giggle, and even Jack and Bitty look skeptical. As they head down the hall toward the elevators, Derek hears Jack asking in what’s probably supposed to be an undertone, “Are you sure they should be sharing?”

“They’re both legal adults,” Lardo replies. “Not my fault that the dominant sports narrative is so incredibly heteronormative that the default is two dudes rooming together, which may or may not give said two dudes the chance to get it on.”

“Bro,” Shitty says, “I’m legit like, so proud right now. Fuck yeah.”

“Besides,” Lardo says, and now Derek suspects she’s raising her voice so they can hear. “No one else wanted to room with them and have to deal with them making out.”

“Is Lardo trolling us?” Derek asks after the elevator door close behind them. 

Dex runs a hand through his hair, which is completely unfair, because it’s super distracting. “Dude, I don’t know. Sometimes she side-eyes us and I think she’s figured it out, but there’s never any way to really tell. Maybe she knows and she’s trolling us, or maybe she’s buying it and she’s trolling us.”

Derek shrugs. “Nothing we can do about it either way. We might as well chill.”

“Ugh,” Dex groans, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“I know,” Derek said, smiling fondly. 

The elevator doors open and they troop down the hall to their room, Derek’s still holding the key cards, so he unlocks the door without dropping his bag (thanks to Dex catching it and sliding the strap back up his shoulder but whatever). He shoulders through the door and down the little hallway just inside, dropping his bag on the floor before he realizes that instead of the usual two double or queen beds, this hotel room only contains one large king-size bed.

“She’s trolling us,” Dex says from behind him. “She is absolutely, one hundred percent trolling us.”

“Maybe,” Derek says, turning around. “You know what I think, though?”

Dex shakes his head, swallowing hard as Derek advances toward him.

“I think,” Derek says, taking another step forward and watching Dex bump into the wall next to the bed, “that everybody on the team knows we’re sharing a room.”

“And?” Dex says, tipping his chin up and licking his lips as Derek steps closer.

Derek smiles, stepping closer, savoring the slow burn of anticipation in his stomach and the way Dex’s pupils widen, big and dark in the golden amber of his eyes. “And,” he says, drawing the word out, “they’re probably going to chirp the hell out of us if we show up to practice with the same old hickeys.”

It’s bullshit. Derek knows it’s bullshit. Even if they were really dating (especially if they were really dating) it wouldn’t be any of the team’s business what they did and didn’t do in private. But he’s selfish enough to want this, to get his hands and mouth on Dex’s skin, to hear the noises he made, to feel the way Dex goes soft and pliant under him. He wants to see his marks on Dex’s skin, blooming like dark flowers among the clusters of freckles. 

He leans in to kiss Dex, slowly, watching for any signs that the other boy wants him to back off. But Dex just waits, leaning against the wall, his eyes wide, for Derek to close the distance between them and kiss him. 

Derek meant for the kiss to be slow and sweet, to savor the chance to touch and taste in privacy, but when Dex sighs into the kiss, his lips parting softly, Derek loses his mind a little. He presses closer, licking into Dex’s mouth, devouring him like a starving man. 

They’re both hard, and Derek wants so much. He wants to stay like this, making out against the wall, grinding up against each other until they both come in their pants. He wants to drag Dex to the bed and take him apart with his hands and mouth and cock until all Dex can do is scream and moan and beg. But most of all, he wants never to have agreed to this stupid plan, because knowing what it feels like to hold Dex’s hand, to kiss him anywhere, to see him smile instead of scowl, is so much worse than imagining it. Now he  _ knows, _ and it’s going to hurt so much when this is over and he knows exactly what he’s missing.

But he’s in this now, and he’s damn well going to make it worth it. He tears his mouth away from Dex’s and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, backing off enough to pull it up until it’s bunched around Dex’s armpits. 

“Off,” he says, and Dex lifts his arms, lets Derek drag it over his head and drop it to the floor. The hickey on Dex’s neck is a multilayered thing, the pale shadow of the original bruise under the new one he’d made the other night outside Dex’s dorm room. The other ones from the cabin, on his pec and his hipbone, are almost completely faded, but Dex still lets out a breathy little moan when Derek presses his fingers lightly against them.

Derek turns them and backs Dex up until his legs hit the bed and he goes sprawling across the mattress. He takes a minute to pull his own shirt off before he follows Dex down and it was so worth it to feel skin on skin, warm and damp with sweat. 

Derek traces the outer shell of Dex’s ear with his tongue and Dex rewards him with a long, shuddering inhale. Catching Dex’s earlobe between his teeth earns him a soft moan, and trailing his tongue down the side of Dex’s neck makes it louder. 

He can’t resist fastening his mouth onto the mark that’s already there. It doesn’t take much to bring the color to the surface of Dex’s pale skin. Derek has to fight back the urge to linger there just to see what noises he can wring from Dex’s throat. He traces the ridge of Dex’s collarbone with his tongue, kissing the spots where Dex had left the now-fading marks on his own chest, and slides lower. He flicks his tongue over one pink nipple, just to see what happens, and Dex shakes under him, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Hmmm,” Derek hums, doing it again. “You like that, babe?”

“Fuuuck,” Dex moans, squirming under Derek’s weight. “Jesus, Nurse, you’re gonna kill me.”

Derek smiles and slides lower, filing that little tidbit of information away for later. He runs his tongue along the waistband of Dex’s sweatpants, dipping below the fabric a couple of times, before tugging it down a little and fastening his mouth onto that hard line of muscle over Dex’s hipbone. Dex’s hips buck up off the bed, just like last time, but Derek is ready, pressing him back down into the mattress. 

“Derek,” Dex moans.

Derek freezes. It might be the first time Dex has ever said his first name. “Nursey” and “Nurse,” sure. “Asshole” and “Jerk,” absolutely. Derek is completely unprepared for how it feels to have Dex saying his name, especially in that rough, sex-drenched voice. It feels like this is real, like they’re actually doing this. Derek thought he had a handle on how much he could get hurt here, that he’d accepted it, but there’s a whole new pit of pain yawning beneath his feet.

Before they can address the situation, though, a fist pounds on the door leading into the adjoining room. 

“Dex! Nursey!” Shitty bellows, only slightly muffled by the door. “You beautiful motherfuckers get your clothes on; we’re going out to dinner. You can fuck later!”

Dex flushes all the way down to where Derek’s lips are still pressed to his skin. “You heard him,” he mumbles, pushing Derek back and leaning over to pick his shirt up off the floor. 

Derek goes with it, a little worried about the way that Dex refuses to meet his eyes the entire time they’re getting dressed and out the door. The rush of relief when Dex takes his hand as they get to the lobby is so strong it leaves him weak-kneed for a second, unable to do anything but close his eyes and breathe. 

How the hell is he supposed to survive this?

* * *

Dex waits until everyone else has dozed off or is occupied with their own bus activities. Ransom and Holster are arguing about whether or not movie Hawkeye is superior to comic book Hawkeye. Bitty handed Jack a test on Beyonce for some reason and Jack looks surprisingly rattled the further he gets into it. Chowder is curled up under his Sharks blanket, snoring away, and Shitty and Lardo are having a spirited discussion on the societal implications of matrilineal societies and how their cultures regard the arts.

Dex pulls the piece of paper out of his backpack and drops it onto Nursey’s lap, watching out of the corner of his eye as the other boy picks it up. 

“What’s this?” Nursey asks, leaning into Dex’s shoulder and holding up the flyer inquiringly. 

“Our first date,” Dex tells him, stretching his arm behind Nursey’s shoulders because that’s what a good boyfriend would do. “The theater department’s doing Shakespeare at the Pond next Thursday. I thought I could pick up some tacos and meet you there after classes.”

Nursey smirks up at him, but it’s softer than usual, and he snuggles into Dex’s arm like he actually wants to be there. “ _ Much Ado About Nothing _ ? That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Beatrice and Benedick had to be tricked into getting together,” Dex protests. “We’re not that bad. Yes, I’ve read a play, try not to faint.”

“You know I love it when you talk literature, babe,” Nursey says, leaning up to press a kiss to Dex’s mouth. “Sounds like fun.”

He cuddles up with his cheek on Dex’s chest and sleeps the rest of the way back to Samwell, snoring lightly. Dex doesn’t even realize until Shitty starts making “that’s so cute” faces at him that he’s stroking his fingers gently through Nursey’s curls.

He doesn’t stop, though.

* * *

“Nurse!”

Derek’s head turns as the familiar voice calls his name. He weaves through the clumps of people on the Beach until he reaches Dex. The other boy is sitting cross-legged on a lime-green blanket with two paper bags next to him, smiling at Derek like he’s actually happy to see him. 

“Hey, babe,” Derek says, dropping down to sit next to Dex and leaning in for a kiss. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know,” Dex shrugs. “Thursdays. Here,” he says, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a glass bottle that he passes to Derek. “I got that weird soda you like.” 

“It’s not weird,” Derek protests automatically, twisting the top off the bottle. “Just because it’s not full of corn syrup--”

Dex bumps his shoulder into Derek’s as he opens his own soda, smiling that small, secret smile that never fails to make something soft bloom in Derek’s chest. “Chill, Nursey. It’s actually pretty good.”

“I know,” Derek sputters weakly, unable to come up with another comeback when Dex is smiling at him like that. He grabs the other bag and digs through it, finding tacos wrapped in wax paper. He hands the carnitas to Dex and opens a chicken taco for himself, inhaling it in maybe three bites.

“Jeez, Nursey, hungry much?” Dex chirps, his own half-eaten taco still in his hands.

“Early lunch on Thursdays,” Derek mumbles, pulling another taco out of the bag. “Anyway, gotta eat lots of protein to keep these guns.” He flexes exaggeratedly, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his gray henley.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dex grumbles, going back to his own food. “Like you’re in any danger of that.”

Derek flutters his eyelashes at Dex. “Aww, Dexy, I thought you liked my muscles.”

Dex bumps his shoulder again. “Eat your tacos, dumbass.”

They finish their tacos, taking the trash to the nearest trash can, and return to their blanket just in time to watch the play’s cast take their places on the cleared grass at the center. Derek sits behind Dex, wrapping his arms around his...friend’s waist and hooking his chin over Dex’s shoulder. 

Because it’s Samwell, or maybe as a nod to the cross-dressing traditions of Shakespeare’s day (honestly, it could be either or both), Beatrice and Benedick are both being played as female characters, and Hero and Claudio as males. Don Pedro was actually Dona Petra, played by a statuesque brunette who carried off the role flawlessly.

“Man, Shitty’s going to be sorry he missed this,” Derek murmurs in Dex’s ear around the end of Act One. “He could probably do three papers on the way that having Hero being a dude changes the subtext of Claudio assuming that he’s cheating.”

“Not to mention having Benedick being a woman and a soldier, under the command of a female ruler whose bastard brother is trying to usurp the throne,” Dex returns, shivering a little against Nursey. “But I think Shitty’s actually here. Isn’t that him sitting over there with Lardo”

Derek looks across the Beach in the direction Dex is pointing, and sure enough, Shitty and Lardo are curled up together with one of the volleyball girls on what looks like a ratty old sleeping bag. “Huh. Sure enough,” he says, still keeping his voice pitched low, even though the actors have taken an intermission. There’s no reason to yell; his mouth is only inches from Dex’s ear. 

Dex shivers again. “Are you cold, babe?” Derek asks, concerned. It’s not that cold out, especially cuddled together like they are.

“No,” Dex mumbles, flushing. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Derek starts to pursue the issue, but the actors start up again, and Dex does seem to be fine. He still digs his jacket out of his backpack and spreads it over both of them as best he can. Dex gives him an exasperated look but doesn’t throw the jacket off, so Derek counts it as a victory.

By the end of the play, Derek’s ass is numb from sitting on the hard ground in one position for so long, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not with Dex leaning back against his chest, warm and solid and real, laughing at some of the more outrageous lines in the play as the actors hammed it up. Dex doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, either, slowly letting Derek’s jacket fall to the blanket and getting to his feet.

“Come on, Nursey,” he says, reaching down a hand to pull Derek to his feet. Derek stumbles a little and staggers into Dex, probably because he has no feeling in his glutes, but Dex steadies him with a gentle hand on his waist. Obviously the only thing to do is to lean in for another kiss, licking into Dex’s mouth for the spicy taste of his tacos and the lingering sweetness from the soda.

“Bros!” Shitty yells right next to them, and they jerk apart. “Not that I don’t support the beauty of your love, but morning practice comes all too soon, you feel me? I want to hand those fuckers from Bentley their asses tomorrow night! So get to sleep after you get your freak on; don’t stay up too late.”

Dex’s face is almost completely pink so Derek bends over to fold the blanket. “Sure thing, Shitty,” he says mildly, sliding his free hand into Dex’s and tugging him in the direction of their dorm. “You, too.”

Dex is quiet as they walk back to their dorm, but it’s the kind of silence Derek’s come to treasure over the past few days, comfortable and comforting, Dex squeezing his hand every so often. 

Instead of peeling off on the second floor to go to his room, Dex just makes the turn to continue up to Derek’s floor. “What?” he says in response to Derek’s questioning look. “It’s a date; I’m going to walk you home. I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

Derek ducks his head to try and hide the mushy smile he’s sure is on his face. There’s no one around to see, no one to fool. If Dex sees...if he realizes how real this is for Derek...he shoves that thought down where he doesn’t have to examine it too closely.

When they get to Derek’s room, he hands the blanket back to Dex, reluctantly releasing his hand. “I had a really nice time,” he chirps, fluttering his lashes at Dex, because he can’t deal with being serious about this. 

“What, no goodnight kiss?” Dex chirps back, his eyes bright, as he leans against the wall next to Derek’s door.

“Why, Mr. Poindexter,” Derek exclaims, pressing a hand to his chest. “What kind of boy do you think I am?”

Dex smirks at him, sliding a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and tugging him forward. Derek goes, helpless to do anything else, bracing his hands against the wall on either side of Dex’s head. “I think,” Dex murmurs, “you’re the kind of boy who kissed me outside my room last Thursday until I almost came in my pants.”

“Really?” Derek blurts, eyes wide.

Dex takes advantage of his distraction to tug him closer until their lips meet. The kiss starts out soft and gentle, but Dex slowly deepens it, licking into Derek’s mouth like it’s his personal mission to explore every inch of it, pulling him closer with a hand on his waist until there’s no space between them.

Derek has no idea how long they’re there, a long, sweet, leisurely making out, before the door opens next to them and his roommate comes out, slamming it behind him. “I’m going to the library,” Chad announces to the air, not making eye contact with either of them. “Don’t fuck on my bed, dude.”

He disappears down the stairs before they can respond, but Derek can feel the mood pop like a soap bubble as Dex’s hands fall away. He backs off before Dex can push him off, picking up the blanket that Dex had dropped at their feet and handing it back to him. 

“Good date, babe,” Derek says, trying for his usual chill. “A+, would date again.”

Dex flushes, folding the blanket smaller and refusing to meet Derek’s eyes. “Swawesome.”

“But just so you know?” Derek drops his voice to a more intimate tone. “My date for us next week is gonna be even better.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “Dream on, Nurse. I’m way better at this than you are.”

Derek steals one more kiss. Just one, to tide him over. “You’ll see,” he says, turning to open his door. “I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

He’s pretty sure he imagines Dex saying “Yeah, you are,” as the door closes behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Shitty MEANS to cockblock them, he just cares deeply about them and wants to express it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who was so understanding about the delay in updating, and who left me so many lovely comments! You're all amazing!!!!


	6. Can't Turn Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time starts to run out on their agreement, both Dex and Nursey start to feel the pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Thank you for all your patience in waiting for this update; I'm so happy to get back to these idiot boys. I promise not to string them along forever. The only warning in this chapter is for probably-excessive pining.

“I feel like a dumbass,” Dex mutters, shifting uncomfortably on the shabby couch. “Why did I agree to this again?”

Nursey leans over to kiss him. “Because you’re being a good boyfriend.”

“Oh. Yeah. That.” Dex says, grateful for the dim lighting Annie’s uses in the evenings, although probably not even that can hide the flush on his cheeks. “But I don’t have to pretend to understand any of this, right? There’s not gonna be a quiz afterward?”

“Nah, it’s chill,” Nursey, one corner of his mouth tipped up in that obnoxious smirk, the one that used to make Dex want to punch it off his face. The fact that these days he’s thinking more along the lines of kissing it off his face is almost as unsettling as the fact that he’s willingly attending a poetry reading.

Nursey’s hand covers Dex’s where it’s moving restlessly in his lap. “Babe, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know it’s not your thing.”

Dex shakes his head stubbornly, but lets Nursey link their fingers together. “It’s your thing, though. I can be here for you.”

Nursey’s face softens and he leans in for another kiss. “Best boyfriend ever,” he says softly when they break apart, his breath brushing across Dex’s lips.

“Only boyfriend ever,” Dex reminds him, but in an undertone, because someone is stepping up to the spotlit microphone and, contrary to popular belief, he’s not a  _ complete _ asshole.

“Welcome to Poetry Night,” the girl says, brushing her purple-tipped hair back behind her ear, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “You guys are in for a real treat. We’ve got some really talented writers who are going to share their work with us tonight. First of all, let’s hear it for Ashley!”

A short, curvy girl with warm brown skin and a soft cloud of hair to match steps up to the microphone and starts to read. Dex loses the thread of her meaning pretty quickly, but he’s surprised to find that he still likes the rhythm of her voice, the rise and fall, the way she picks up speed through some passages and lingers lovingly on others. It’s musical, in a way that he isn’t used to words being, and he claps just as hard as anyone else when she comes to the end and backs away from the mic.

The next reader, a tall, gangly boy with almost as many freckles as Dex and sandy blond hair, is a disappointment by comparison, stumbling over his words, backtracking and interspersing them with hums and sighs. He clearly realizes it, his shoulders hunching more and more with each misstep, and Dex is cringing in empathetic embarrassment by the time he finishes and scurries back to his seat amid the sprinkling of polite applause.

Person after person comes to the mic, some good, some bad, most somewhere in between. Dex keeps waiting for Nursey to let go of his hand, to stand up and make his way forward, but it doesn’t happen for so long that he starts to think it never will. Finally, though, Nursey squeezes Dex’s hand as he gets to his feet and moves between the tables to the pool of light and the waiting microphone.

They know him here, clearly; the applause is loud and genuine, interspersed with a few whistles and other enthusiastic noises. Nursey shakes his head at them, waiting for it to die down. If Dex hadn’t had so many chances to see it lately, up close and personal, he’d think he’s imagining the flush along the other boy’s cheekbones.

Finally silence falls, and Nursey glances down at the paper in his hands, takes a deep breath, and looks up to meet Dex’s eyes as he starts to speak.

“Every time  
I imagined kissing you  
in the rain  
under the moon  
a thousand kisses  
a million ways  
for us to come together  
finally  
fast  
slow  
angry  
soft

Every time  
I thought you’d taste like fire  
like spice  
hot on my tongue  
burn me  
from the inside out  
I thought I was ready  
to burn for you

But  
this time  
you taste like the chocolate I bought you  
sweet  
rich

This time  
it’s real

I didn’t know I was ready  
to melt for you.”

Nursey--No, Derek. This is Derek--steps back from the mic, drops his head a little to signal that he’s finished, but his eyes never leave Dex’s. The applause is even louder now, and he acknowledges it with a little wave as he threads his way back through the tables, but he still doesn’t look away from Dex. When he gets to the couch and leans down, taking Dex’s face in his hands and kissing him, slowly and thoroughly, Dex doesn’t even hear the applause turn to wolf whistles.

He’s too busy melting.

* * *

This is the most fun Derek’s had at a kegster in probably ever. He’s pleasantly buzzed and Dex only put up a token protest about being on Nursey Patrol (“You  _ literally _ signed up for this, bro,” Holster had said) so he’s had an excuse to keep Dex close, to weave their fingers together as they move from room to room. Dex looks like he’s actually having fun, too, his shoulders relaxed and his smiles more frequent than usual.

But now they’ve come to the part of the kegster where everyone has paired off (or tripled off, in some cases; now that he sees her up close, Derek realizes that the blonde making out with Shitty and Lardo on the back porch is actually Camilla Collins and not the blonde girl from the volleyball team. They look like they’re having fun, though, so more power to them). 

Either way, though, there are people making out throughout the Haus; Chowder and Farmer are cuddled up on the floor in front of the couch and Holster and Ransom have disappeared, presumably with the volleyball players they’d been talking to earlier, but wherever they are, there’s probably making out happening. Jack, of course, is in his room, and probably not making out with anybody. But Bitty’s dance partner from earlier in the evening seems to be pretty good with his mouth, too, judging from the way Bitty’s got his head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed.

Derek tugs Dex in until his lips are next to his (fake) boyfriend’s ear. “Babe!” he says, lowering his voice to a whisper when Dex flinches away. “We have to make out.”

Dex looks like he’s about to protest, but when he looks around to see if anyone’s listening, there are people making out as far as the eye can see. “Okay,” he mumbles. 

For a long sobering second, Derek’s afraid this is it, the moment when he pushes too far, breaks this fragile thing between them into a million pieces, when Dex realizes that Derek’s fun, but not worth sticking around for. Sure, everyone is making out, but that just means  _ literally no one _ is looking at them, expecting anything from them.

But Dex is pushing him down onto the chair in the corner, straddling him in one liquid motion. Derek melts in relief and opens easily for his kiss, the bitter taste of beer and the vaguely sweet alcoholic burn of tub juice mingling on their tongues. 

Derek runs his hands up and down Dex’s back, enjoying the softness of the flannel shirt before he sneaks his hands under the hem, skin on skin. Dex squirms in his lap, grinding down, and Derek gasps, breaking the kiss, because Dex’s cock is rubbing up against his, and even through the denim of their jeans, it’s one of the best things he’s ever felt. 

Dex threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, tugging his head to the side, and places a kiss just under his ear, the barest brush of lips and breath. Derek shivers, and Dex does it again, making a careful line of slow, soft kisses down his neck. 

By the time Dex tugs the collar of Derek’s sweater to the side to give him better access, Derek is a shivering, whimpering mess underneath him. Every inch of skin feels sensitized, waiting for the slightest touch, every tug of Dex’s fingers in his hair feels like lightning dancing across his skin and down his spine. He’s hard as a rock in his jeans, rolling his hips helplessly up against Dex for that delicious friction, and if Dex does anything more than kiss his neck Derek’s pretty sure he’s going to come in his pants, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Dex presses his lips to Derek’s shoulder, another tiny kiss, but then he scrapes his teeth across the sensitized skin. Derek shudders helplessly, his nails digging into Dex’s back as Dex fastens his mouth there and sucks, his hand tightening in Derek’s hair to hold him in place. 

“Fuuuck,” Derek hears himself groan. “Fuck, Dex, so good, oh god, please--”

Dex cuts off his babble by the simple expedient of kissing him again, licking into his mouth. They’re plastered together now, chest to chest, cock to cock, and Derek is almost, almost drunk enough, almost good enough at denial to forget that none of this is real. That Dex doesn’t actually want him.

“Wow,” someone says when they break apart for breath. “You guys are like, super hot together.” The guy blinks owlishly at them, leaning against the wall like he’s forgotten how to stand without support

Dex pulls back, putting space between them, cold air where he’d been warm and solid and present. Derek lets his hands fall awkwardly to his sides, already missing the smooth skin of Dex’s back under his touch.

Dex shoves himself to his feet and reaches a hand down to pull Derek up, too. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

The guy beams after them, like he thinks they’re heading for someplace with more privacy so they can have sex, but Derek knows better. His evening isn’t going to end in an orgasm unless it’s one he causes for himself. This is all he gets of Dex tonight, this hand holding his as they walk back to their dorm.

It’s almost enough.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Dex asks as Nursey collapses onto the Haus couch next to him.

“Nothing,” Nursey says, pulling papers and notebooks out of his bag with sharp, jerky movements. “It’s fine man. It’s chill. Everything’s chill.”

Dex’s teeth try to grind themselves together, but he forces himself to look past that, setting a hand lightly on Nursey’s wrist. Nursey goes completely still, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Dex has seen the signs often enough to know that his...friend...is dangerously close to losing his calm.

“Why don’t I go see if there’s any pie?” Dex pushes himself up off the couch and makes a beeline for the kitchen. 

Fortunately, with finals on their way, Bitty’s been stress baking, so even with hockey appetites, there’s pretty much always some sort of baked good up for grabs. Dex loads a plate with brownies, snickerdoodles, and pumpkin pie, scraping the last of Bitty’s homemade whipped cream out of the bowl and onto the top of the pie.

“Hungry today?” Bitty asks from the counter where he’s rolling out crust.

“No, well, yeah, I am.” Dex grabs two forks and picks up the plate. “But some of this is for Nursey. He seems really stressed today.”

Bitty frowns. “Really? He seemed fine to me when he came through here a minute ago.”

Dex gapes at Bitty for a minute, because honestly? Nursey was well over three-quarters of the way to a Ransom-style coral-reef moment. How did Bitty not pick up on that?

“I’m sure you know him better, though,” Bitty says, turning back to his crust. “Go on, then. Feed that boy.”

Dex hurries back to the living room, where Nursey is already surrounded by piles of paper and notebooks, muttering to himself and pulling at his hair. 

“Snack break, Nursey.” Nursey doesn’t look up. “Nurse.” Still no reaction. Dex takes a deep breath and does his best to channel his uncle in the middle of a nor-easter. “ **_Derek!_ ** ”

Whether it’s the use of his first name or the volume, Dex isn’t sure, but Nursey finally looks up. “Huh?”

Dex waggles the plate in his direction. “Raided the kitchen. Eat something, you’ll feel better.”

“You’re not my mom,” Nursey mutters rebelliously. 

“Nope,” Dex agrees easily, moving the stack of papers on his seat to the floor and sitting next to Nursey, handing him one of the forks. “Good thing, too. And don’t think I’m gonna give you the bigger piece of pie just because you’re stressing out.”

Nursey pouts for a minute longer, but Dex makes deliberately loud, vaguely sexual noises as he starts on his slice of pie (not like it’s hard; Bitty’s pie is pretty damn close to orgasmic). Finally, when Dex starts eyeing the second slice, Nursey starts eating, his shoulders relaxing down away from his ears with each bite, his leg pressed against Dex’s. 

About the time Dex is licking brownie crumbs off his fingers and Nursey’s finishing his snickerdoodle, Dex judges it safe to ask again. “Really, though. What’s wrong?”

Nursey picks up his brownie and puts the plate down with a sigh, sitting back on the couch. Dex stretches his arm along the back of the couch and Nursey curls into his side, nibbling on the brownie. “Eh. Midterms and stuff. And the Christmas decorations are starting to come out. Always makes me act like a little bit of a dick.”

“You don’t like Christmas?” Dex manages to modulate his tone away from the incredulous anger it would’ve held a few weeks ago. What kind of asshole doesn’t like Christmas?

Nursey lifts one shoulder. “It’s just another day. I spent holidays at Andover when I was there. I’ll be in the dorms this year, I guess.”

Dex bites his tongue on the first response that tries to leap out. Whatever he thinks about Nursey’s childhood, badmouthing his parents isn’t cool. “Fuck that. Come home with me.”

“Really?” Nursey sits up straighter, his eyes wide. “Our six weeks are over before then.”

The words hit Dex like a bucket of cold water. It’s not like he doesn’t know, like he doesn’t have a clock in his head counting down the days, the hours, the minutes left until he doesn’t get to have even this little bit of Nursey anymore. But it’s the first time either of them have acknowledged the looming deadline out loud, and that makes it real.

“Yeah, man,” Dex says, somehow managing to sound normal despite the sudden inexplicable tightness in his throat. “Between my brothers and sisters and cousins, the house is gonna be packed. One more won’t be that big a deal. Besides, my mom would kill me if I left anyone from the team alone on Christmas.”

“Right,” Nursey said, dropping his eyes and licking brownie crumbs off his thumb. “Yeah, man, sounds chill. Thanks.”

Dex tells himself he shouldn’t feel disappointed when Nursey goes back to his homework instead of curling back into his side. It’s not like they’re actually boyfriends. Dex needs to get used to that, because soon it’s all going to be over.

* * *

Derek just barely pulls his notebook out of the way as Dex drops his skates into his lap. “What the fuck, Dex?”

“It’s date night,” Dex says, pulling the notebook out of Derek’s fingers and tucking it into his backpack. “Get your coat on and bring your skates.”

“Fine,” Derek grumbles, shoving himself up off the couch. He lets himself believe that Dex looks disappointed when he doesn’t steal a kiss on his way to the coat rack. “But the date better not be extra practice, or I’m breaking up with you.”

Dex shakes his head, tugging his knit cap down further until only the tiniest unruly tufts of hair are sticking out around the edges. “Do I look like a Canadian hockey robot? It’s not an extra fucking practice. C’mon.”

Derek’s coat is barely zipped before Dex is pulling him out the Haus door into the cold darkness. Instead of heading toward Faber as Derek expected, they turn toward town, Dex still holding his hand. Derek might be imagining things, but he’d swear he can feel the warmth of Dex’s hand even through their gloves.

“Really, bro, why are we bringing our skates?” Derek asked after they passed the Murder Stop ‘n’ Shop. 

“You’ll see,” Dex said, smiling a little smugly. “Not much further.”

They finally make it to Samwell’s “historic downtown,” which is actually pretty cute, if not actually very historic, and there, in the park where the Farmer’s Market sets up every Saturday during the summer, is--”William Poindexter, are you seriously taking me ice skating for a date?”

Dex’s face falls. “I dunno, I thought it’d be romantic and shit. It’s dumb, though. We can just go--”

“Not a chance.” Derek tightens his grip on Dex’s hand, moving toward the small temporary rink. “You’re gonna skate with me under the stars and you’re gonna hold my hand. It’s date night.”

“Fine,” Dex sighs, but it’s anybody’s guess who’s pulling who forward.

The rink is only sparsely populated since it’s a weekday night; a couple of families with small children making their first wobbly strokes across the ice, a gaggle of teenagers shifting and reforming into different conversational groups. 

When Dex pays the entrance fee and they slide onto the ice, Derek feels a little like there’s a spotlight on them, that any minute someone might point at their joined hands and--his imagination fails him at this point. Burning at the stake? But no one seems to notice, except two teenage girls who smile at them and link their pinkies together for a moment before moving apart again. 

They circle the rink with long, lazy strokes. It’s been a long time since Derek’s been on the ice without purpose, just for fun instead of pushing to be better, harder faster. It reminds him of the first time he managed to skate on his own, the magic of gliding across the smooth, cold surface, all of his muscles doing what he asked with no hesitation. 

He tips his head back to look up, trusting Dex to keep him on course, and either the town has dimmed the lights or the stars are so bright in the night sky that they show up clearly, burning in the darkness, only blotted out by the bright, full, circle of the moon.

Dex pulls on his hand and Derek returns his attention to the ice as they move out of the way for a toddler of indeterminate gender, bundled up until they’re almost spherical, clinging grimly to their mother’s hands as they forge bravely across the ice.

“Get your head out of the clouds, Derek,” Dex chides him, his voice fond. 

“Don’t wanna,” Derek retorts, sticking his tongue out and trying to ignore the way his heart pounds when Dex uses his actual name. “Besides, I’ve got you to look out for me.”

Dex tries to look aggravated, but his mouth keeps curving into a smile. “Yeah.”

When they get too cold they get off the rink and grab hot chocolate from the stall set up nearby, drinking it on the walk back to campus. Derek licks the taste out of Dex’s mouth outside his dorm room, kissing him just a little desperately. But all too soon the door closes behind him and Derek flops down on his bed alone, doing his best to ignore the voice in his head that says they’re almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry about the length of time between updates; unfortunately real life doesn't always leave me much writing time, and I've been slogging through finishing my fic for the Marvel Big Bang. I'm ready to finish this thing up, but I am also going to need to take some time to work on fics for people who have commissioned me. So the updates will come hopefully not a month apart this time! I hope to do no less than one a week until we're finished.
> 
> As always thank you for the lovely comments and feel free to hit me up [on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) if you want to cry about stupid hockey boys.


	7. My Beating Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the six-week deadline looming over their heads, Derek gets sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for possibly-excessive levels of pining (I mean it; they really upped their game here) and our boys continuing to be idiots. 
> 
> Title from "Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran

“How did you talk Bitty into this?” Dex asks, standing in the middle of the Haus kitchen, his hands shoved carefully into his pockets where they can’t do any damage.

Derek shrugs, pulling more groceries out of the fridge and onto the counter. “I promised to pay to replace anything we destroyed. And I ordered him a KitchenAid off of Amazon. Now pay attention, babe.”

Dex does his best, he really does. And he manages pretty well, all things considered; when you grow up with lots of siblings, you get really good at ignoring distractions. So even with Derek wrapped around him, guiding his hand on the whisk, even when Derek hooks his chin over Dex’s shoulder to watch and offer suggestions and press the occasional kiss to Dex’s neck, Dex manages to turn out pancakes that are actually recognizable as pancakes. Like, a whole stack of them, enough to actually feed both of them.

They’re settled in at the kitchen table, enjoying their pancakes, which actually taste pretty good with butter and the maple syrup Jack’s parents had mailed down (a whole case of real maple syrup, who did that?). Without the need to focus intently on cooking, Dex can actually pay attention to Derek now, and he doesn’t like what he sees.

“Dude, you look like shit. Do you feel okay?” he asks.

“Huh?” Derek looks up. His eyes look a little red, Dex is almost sure he’s paler than usual, and even in the warmth of the kitchen, he’s shivering a little. “Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He starts coughing before he can even finish the sentence, though, not that Dex was buying it either way.

“Nope,” Dex says, leaning over to feel Derek’s forehead. Even though he can’t stop shaking, he feels warmer than usual. Dex kicks himself for not noticing sooner. “All right, get your coat. I’m taking you back to your room.”

“Boys? Are you--oh, dear,” Bitty says, his face falling. “Nursey, honey, are you sick?”

“No,” Derek says.

“Yes,” Dex says at the same time. “He is. I’m taking him back to his dorm and putting him to bed.”

“Good,” Bitty says, bustling into the kitchen. “I’m going to start some chicken soup. It’ll be done in a couple hours, Dex. I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready. There’s Tylenol in the bathroom cabinet, and a thermometer. Take some washcloths in case you need to cool him down, and a bowl for some cool water. Oh, you know what, stay here. I know where everything is. Y’all get your coats on, you hear? It’s freezing out there!”

Within five minutes they’re standing on the front step of the Haus, coats and hats and scarves on. Dex holding an ridiculously large box full of what Bitty considers vital nursing supplies.

“I really don’t feel that--achoo!--bad,” Derek says plaintively.

Dex sighs, wrapping his arm around Derek’s waist as he starts listing a little to the side. “Sure you don’t. But you know Bitty’s going to make that soup and bring it over. Do you want to disappoint him?”

Derek pouts a little, but follows when Dex tugs him along in the direction of their dorm. “...no…” he finally admits. “I don’t want to disappoint Bitty.”

“Okay,” Dex says. “So we’re going to go to your dorm room and you’re going to lie down until Bitty gets there with the soup. And we’re going to take your temperature so we can show Bitty that you’re not sick.”

Derek sniffs loudly. “Okay.”

He trips over his own feet on the completely flat sidewalk and Dex tightens his grip, somehow managing not to drop the box or spill any of the contents.

It’s going to be a long night

* * *

 The thermometer beeps. Dex pulls it out of Derek’s mouth before he can grab it. “Hundred and one,” Dex says, setting it on the top of the desk and reaching into Bitty’s box. “You’re not going anywhere for awhile, Nurse.”

“What?” Derek makes a grab for the thermometer. It takes him a couple of tries, because he keeps coughing. _101.9_ , the digital readout says, when he finally gets his hands on it. He tosses it back onto the desk and slumps back against the pillows. “Shit.”

He sneezes three times in quick succession. By the time he can see again, Dex is holding out a tissue. Derek takes it, resisting the urge to toss it across the room, and blows his nose. He’d just look stupid, anyway. Tissues aren’t even a little aerodynamic.

“Okay, Bitty should be here with the soup soon,” Dex says briskly, pushing Derek’s trash can next to the bed so he can drop the tissue into it. “Do you want Tylenol or Nyquil?”

“You’re not my mom!” Derek snaps. He immediately regrets it; Dex doesn’t flinch outwardly, but Derek can see the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, babe. I hate not feeling good, and I act like a dick about it sometimes.” He pauses to sneeze. “Well. Most of the time, really. I’ll try to do better.”

“Yeah, well,” Dex shrugs, but he’s meeting Derek’s eyes again, so that has to be a good sign, right? “I’m not exactly a fucking delight to be around when I’m not sick. Guess I can cut you a little slack for feeling bad.”

Derek takes Dex’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thanks. Can I have the Tylenol?”

Dex shakes out a couple of pills and hands them over, along with a small bottle of water that was apparently also in the box. “There you go. Just let me know if you need to hurl, okay? I want to get out of the splash zone.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna puke. It’s just a cold.”

“Okay,” Dex says. “What do you want to do while we wait on Bitty to get here with the soup?”

“You don’t have to stay here,” Derek says. He doesn’t want Dex to go, but he can’t seem to stop himself from pushing. “I’m not a child. I don’t have to be supervised.”

“I’m well aware you’re not a child,” Dex snaps back. “I’m also not a complete dick. Only a complete dick would leave his boyfriend sick and alone in his dorm room, okay?”

“You might get sick, too,” Derek protests weakly, trying to ignore the fact that Dex said “boyfriend” without a hint of irony. “I’m probably contagious.”

Dex laughs. “Dude, we made out for like twenty minutes at the kegster last night. Whatever this is, I guarantee you I’ve already got the germs. Where’s your laptop? We can watch a movie or something until Bitty gets here.”

“In my bag,” Derek says, gesturing toward the pile by the door where he’d dropped everything after he got back from class.

Dex retrieves the bag and the laptop, for once without commenting on the state of Derek’s room (terrible, as always, but he knew which pile things were in). “Move over,” he says, climbing between Derek and the wall. “What do you want to watch?”

Derek chews on his bottom lip, suddenly, irrationally afraid to be honest. “Promise you won’t chirp me?”

“Promise,” Dex says instantly, his eyebrows raised.

“ _Mulan_ ,” Derek mumbles. Dex waits without saying anything, for once, so Derek forges on. “One of my nannies had it on DVD. She’d let me watch it when I was sick.”

“Okay. Mulan it is,” Dex agrees, his eyes softening. “Is it on Netflix?”

“If not, I have a digital copy,” Derek says. “But I think it’s on there.”

_Mulan_ is on Netflix, as it turns out, and they settle into the only position that two 6’2” hockey players can reasonably find comfortable on a dorm bed: Dex spoons up behind Derek with an extra pillow doubled up under his head so he can see, his arm draped over Derek’s waist.

Derek drifts, occasionally tuning in for his favorite parts of the movie (he loves “I’ll Make a Man Out of You,” even if it’s patriarchal in a way that Shitty could write a 5-page paper about just off the top of his head). At some point, he’s pretty sure he links his fingers with Dex’s where the other boy’s hand rests on his stomach and mumbles “best boyfriend,” but he might just be dreaming.

He’s probably also dreaming when he hears Dex whispering “I wish,” next to his ear.

* * *

 Derek Nurse is pretty terrible when he’s sick, it turns out.

“Dexxxxx,” he whines for the twentieth time in the past hour.

Dex takes a long, deep breath and resists the urge to throw the nearest objects at Derek’s head. _He’s sick. He can’t help it._

“Yeah?” he asks when he can manage to sound only marginally annoyed.

“I’m hoooootttttttt,” Derek whines, kicking the blankets off for the thirtieth time in the past hour.

“You were cold three minutes ago,” Dex says. He’s well past marginally annoyed now, but can’t bring himself to care.

Derek pouts. Even though he’s all gross with fever sweat, it’s unreasonably attractive. Dex shoves the thought down, though. Yesterday was six weeks since the cabin. He isn’t about to bring it up while Derek is sick, but it’s hovering in the back of his mind. Looming.

Soon, they’re going to tell everyone it was all a joke, ha ha, isn’t that funny. Everyone will laugh, how silly to think Derek Nurse would ever actually date freckly, ginger, awkward Will Poindexter. Soon Dex isn’t going to get the kisses, the dates, the little touches. Soon Derek’s going to stop calling him “babe” and saving him pie and Dex has to stop thinking about this right now or he’ll have to smash something to keep from crying.

“I’m _thirsty_!” Derek whines.

Dex uses his rising annoyance to shove his other feelings back down where he can deal with them later. “Here,” he sighs, handing Derek the half-full water bottle from the bedside table that he can damn well reach himself because he’s not a fucking invalid.

Derek takes a long drink, his throat working as he swallows, then lets his hand with the water bottle fall to the side, like he’s just too weak to hold it up any longer. Dex lunges for the bottle, grabbing it before it can spill everywhere, and sets it back on the table.

“Dex, I’m cold.” Derek shivers under the blanket.

Dex shakes his head, pulling the blankets back up to Derek’s chin. “It’s just chills. In five minutes you’re going to be kicking the blankets off again.”

“Cuddle with me? Please?” Derek blinks unfairly pretty eyes up at Dex. “I’m so cold. Please, babe?”

Dex sighs, but even as he does so, he knows he’s going to be pulling the blankets back and sliding under them, spooning up behind Derek. It feels really close to taking advantage, but Derek asked him to be here.

He wraps his arm around Derek’s waist and focuses on memorizing the way it feels, the way Derek leans into him. Soon this is going to stop, but at least he can remember what it was like to have Derek for a little while.

Even if it wasn’t real.

* * *

 Derek wakes up on the third morning to light streaming through the window. His thoughts are clear, and despite the slight stickiness of dried sweat on his skin, he can tell that the fever is gone.

Dex is pressed up against his back, breathing slowly and steadily. His arm is a dead weight over Derek’s waist, his hand resting warmly on Derek’s chest, over his heart. Derek does his best not to move, to keep his breathing slow and even. To make it last a little longer.

All too soon Dex is going to wake up and realise that Derek isn’t sick anymore. The past three days, even with the fever and the coughing and sneezing, have been kind of amazing. With Derek’s roommate finding somewhere else to crash until he isn’t in danger of getting sick, it’s been just the two of them. Dex has been here every waking minute that he wasn’t practicing or in class, putting up with Derek’s whiny, needy self. Cuddling with him. Bringing him food and water and tissues. Helping him stagger down the hall to the bathroom. Watching Mulan approximately three hundred times. Being the best boyfriend ever.

Derek swallows hard, but he can’t hold back the tears stinging his eyes. Dex is going to wake up. Derek can’t stop it. He’s going to wake up and leave. They’re going to go back to being teammates and sort of friends and fighting over stupid shit and it’s going to hurt so much and no one can know. No one can know that Derek fell in love for real with his fake boyfriend.

So he lies in silence, letting the tears roll down his face. Memorizing the way it feels to be in Dex’s arms, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the warmth of his breath against Derek’s neck. Going back over the last six weeks and fixing every amazing moment in his memory. If this is all he gets of Dex, even if it wasn’t real, he’s going to remember it.

Dex stirs and Derek is certain he feels his heart stop in his chest. When Dex just murmurs his name and snuggles closer, his breathing evening out, Derek can’t stop the tears from falling again.

_This is going to hurt_ , is his last thought before he falls asleep again, his face still wet.

* * *

 For the first time in days, Dex gets to drift slowly toward waking instead of being jolted into awareness by Derek’s coughing or sneezing or being pinned against the wall by 215 pounds of feverish hockey player. He lets himself savor it, the pleasant, normal warmth of Derek’s back on his chest, the soft skin of Derek’s neck under his lips, the firm curve of Derek’s ass against his cock.

He wakes up a little more, enough to feel Derek press back against him. The pressure against his morning-hard cock feels so good; when he grinds forward, it feels even better.

Dex flicks his tongue out to taste Derek’s skin, pulling the other boy closer as he shivers. “Good,” he mumbles, letting his hand slide slowly down Derek’s stomach, feeling the flex of muscles under his hand as they move together.

When Dex wakes up a little more, enough to remember that Derek isn’t really his boyfriend, that they really aren’t more than teammates, he’s far enough gone to consider, just for a moment, not stopping. The selfish part of him, the part that he doesn’t like to acknowledge, wants to keep going, to grind up against Derek until he comes. To take this one thing.

He forces himself to pull back, to let go.

“Babe?” Derek mumbles, groping for him. “Wha’?”

“Go back to sleep,” Dex murmurs, extricating himself from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He hurries down the fortunately deserted hall to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. Despite the heavy feeling in his chest, his cock is still rock-hard, in complete defiance of any sense of romance.

Dex grudgingly shoves his boxers down and wraps his hand around his cock, jerking it with fast, rough strokes. He tries to keep his mind blank, focusing just on the physical sensations, but his head is full of Derek. Derek’s body against his, Derek’s taste in his mouth, his name on Derek’s lips. He comes embarrassingly quickly, but he can’t bring himself to care. Once his urgent bodily needs are dealt with, he can’t focus on anything but the ticking clock in the back of his head.

If he goes back and sits in the desk chair, watching Derek sleep until he wakes up, well, no one has to know.

* * *

Derek wakes up and Dex is still there. He braces himself.

“Hey,” Dex says. “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think,” Derek says, stretching a little. “Fever’s gone.”

Dex smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “‘Swawesome. Think you can make it to team breakfast today?”

Derek sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Hope so. If I have to eat any more soup I might actually just turn into liquid.”

He stands up a little too fast, but before he can do more than wobble, Dex is there with an arm around his waist.

“I really wanted to just walk to the fucking bathroom on my own,” Derek says, trying for a joking tone.

Dex shoots him a look that says he didn’t quite succeed in keeping the whine out of his voice. “You’ve been sick for three days. Give it some time.”

They make their way down the hall to the bathroom, a little faster than on previous days. The shower feels amazing, even if Derek is leaning against the wall a little bit, the hot spray washing away the film of fever sweat lingering on his skin.

He tries to ignore the fact that Dex is waiting outside the shower stall, but his cock apparently didn’t get the memo, because it seems very excited by the concept. In the interest of speed and not walking out with an obvious erection, he gives in and braces a hand against the wall, jerking himself off with the other. He bites his lip to try to keep quiet, hoping the sound of the water will cover the little sighs and gasping breaths falling from his mouth.

He can’t help but imagine what could happen if it doesn’t. Would Dex say something? Would he listen quietly? If they were really boyfriends, would Dex step into the shower stall with him?

It’s that vision, the mental image of Dex with water flowing over all that lovely, pale freckled skin, that has Derek suddenly on the edge of orgasm. His imaginary Dex smiles at him, pulling him close for a kiss. Derek comes with the mental picture of Dex’s pale fingers wrapped over his on his cock and Dex’s name on his lips.

“Derek?” Dex calls from outside the stall. “Are you okay? Did you need something? Should I come in?”

“No!” Derek manages to gasp out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too strange. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He soaps up with shaking hands, letting his breathing slowly even out. By the time he turns off the water and wraps the towel around his waist, his legs are mostly steady again and he’s ready to face team breakfast and the inevitable conversation that he can feel looming over them.

As ready as he’ll ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I upped the chapter count because I got a little torn on how best to get them to their happy ending. So we're going to do this Choose Your Own Adventure style! The next chapter will be the ending as I originally envisioned it; Chapter 9 will be the alternate ending which is equally happy in the end but takes a different path to get there. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and the spectacular comments you leave! There's a lot of stuff going on in my life that makes me stressed and anxious; the fact that people enjoy what I write really helps with that.


	8. A. Put Your Arms Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been seven weeks. So why aren't they talking about this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [_Arms_ by Christina Perri](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeW0Sl0tNS8)
> 
> It really seemed like everything was conspiring to prevent me from writing this chapter. I got super stuck at first, and then when I got unstuck, I got sick (and if you're following me on Tumblr, you've probably heard about my terrible boss and my work stress). Thank you all for being so patient and I hope you enjoy this!!! 
> 
> Thanks as always to raspberrycordial and Abish for cheering me on and being so excited about this fic!

It’s been six weeks, five days, and ten hours since Dex suggested this stupid, ridiculous plan. It’s been five days, ten hours, and thirteen minutes since the time ran out on him being Derek Nurse’s fake boyfriend.

And nothing has changed.

Dex had expected Derek to say something once he recovered from whatever cold or flu bug had laid him out for two straight days. Every time the other boy opens his stupid, pretty mouth, Dex braces himself, because it’s coming.

But it doesn’t.

They go to team breakfast the morning after Derek wakes up feeling better. Dex expects, at the very least, that Derek will start putting some distance between them. Instead, when Dex comes back with food for both of them, Derek smiles brightly up at him, says “Thanks, babe!” and hooks his ankle around Dex’s as soon as he sits down.

They go to morning practice because Derek insists he’s feeling up for it. He might be a little slower than usual, but the increased effectiveness from Dex having his d-man partner back more than makes up for it. He’d thought the reason he felt wrong-footed and awkward for the past two practices was the impending end of their “relationship.” But Derek glides across the ice with him and even though Dex can practically see the clock ticking in his mind’s eye, they’re the most in tune they’ve ever been.  Dex passes without looking half the time, because he knows where Derek is, like he knows where his own arms or legs are.

They go to classes and they don’t meet for lunch because it’s Thursday but when Dex gets out of his last class he has a text waiting.

 **Nursey: I’m a little tired; gonna do homework in my room. Bitty sent goodies if you wanna hang** **  
** **Me: Ok, see you soon**

Dex figures it’ll happen then, that Derek’s been waiting until they can talk in private. But Derek greets him with a smile and offers up cookies and mini-pies and somehow they end up watching Parks and Rec, curled up together on Derek’s bed.

They fall asleep like that, without ever discussing the fact that there’s no reason to keep up the charade any longer.

Dex tries not to think about the fact that there never really was.

* * *

 Derek keeps expecting Dex to say something. They wake up, arms and legs tangled together, breathing each other’s air like they’re actually dating, and it chokes Derek at first, how much he wants it to be real. For a second, he thinks it might be worth it to force the conversation. Just so he doesn’t have to keep living in this purgatory of having half of what he wants.

He gets as far as opening his mouth, and before he can speak, Dex says “What?” But not like he would have six weeks ago. His mouth is curled up at one side in a little half-smile and he looks warm and soft and Derek just wants to tackle him back onto the bed and spend the rest of the day cuddled under the blanket.

“We’re going to be late for breakfast,” he says instead.

Derek tries to keep his hands to himself at breakfast, but it’s second nature at this point to lean into Dex, to bump their shoulders together, to sling an arm across the back of his chair. He never realizes what he’s doing until he’s already done it. And once his hand or his arm or his shoulder is there, it would be too weird and obvious to take it back, wouldn’t it?

Classes are a relief. Without Dex there, he doesn’t have to think about every action, second-guess every word. But without Dex there, he has too much time to wonder, to torture himself with what-ifs. Too much time to think, and imagine, and dread. Too much time to anticipate the emptiness of his days after Dex goes back to being a teammate and someone he sits next to on the bus. Not the person that eats lunch with Derek every day or takes him on stupidly romantic dates in the evenings or calms him down when he’s lost his chill.

Derek has no idea what any of his professors say that day.

* * *

 The game that night is a special hell for Dex. It’s even better than yesterday’s practice, because Derek is clearly recovered, and they’re at Ransom-and-Holster levels of drift compatibility, moving like a single person in two different bodies. Even though Dex is miserably awaiting their not-really-a-breakup, even though his awareness of Derek has ratcheted his constant, low-level arousal up to nearly painful levels, it’s one of the best experiences of his life. Definitely one of the best games he’s ever played.

They beat Holy Cross 4-2, and Dex gets an assist on Jack’s last goal. Hall and Murray both make a point of praising their play in the locker room after the game. There’s laughter and chirping as they all rush through their post-game showers, Ransom and Holster promising a truly epic celebration kegster. It’s a great night.

Dex changes his mind half a dozen times while he’s getting dressed in his dorm room. Finally he pulls on his coat and storms out his door, disgusted with himself. So what if Derek had casually mentioned that he liked Dex in the green henley? It’s Dex’s favorite shirt, worn just enough to be perfectly soft and with just enough stretch to fit him without being too tight or too loose. It doesn’t have anything to do with the way Derek had stroked his fingers over the fabric, following Dex’s arms down to his wrists before linking their fingers together. With the way he’d looked at Dex like he could actually be attracted to him.

Since Dex took so much time getting ready, the party is already in full swing when he reaches the Haus. Bitty must have gotten to the sound system before anyone else, because old-school Destiny’s Child is audible a hundred yards away from the door. Dex braces himself, holding the door open for a couple of volleyball girls before following them in.

“Dex!” His name is the only warning he gets before Derek is suddenly attached to his side, an arm snaking around his waist, fingers stroking down his stomach. “Didn’t know where you were!”

Dex raises his eyebrows, but his own arm has dropped automatically around Derek’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. “I’m not _that_ late. How much tub juice have you had?”

Derek’s forehead furrows, his lower lip pouting out. Dex barely resists the urge to lean over and bite down on it. “Two? I think two.”

Dex opens his mouth to suggest that maybe they should go get Derek some water or some food or something to soak up the terrifying amount of alcohol already swimming in his system. But before he can say anything, Ransom appears out of nowhere and wraps a hand around his arm, towing him in the direction of the living room as Holster does the same thing to Derek.

“Hey--” Dex isn’t sure his protest is loud enough to be heard over Beyonce proclaiming that the club was jumping, but one of them hears him.

“D-man body shots!” they yell in unison.

A hot wave of something runs down Dex’s spine. This is a bad idea, but he doesn’t have time to articulate why, because Ransom and Holster are skidding to a halt next to  the table they’ve dragged out of the kitchen, clearly for just this purpose, given the tequila, salt, and limes lined up on one end.

“All right,” Holster says. “Who’s first?”

Dex knows, he _knows_ , that if he makes even a little protest Ransom and Holster will back off. But something reckless bubbles up in his gut, has him reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head before he can change his mind.

Ransom and Holster whoop their approval, but Dex can’t focus on that, not when Derek leans in and licks a slow, wet stripe across his collarbone, then pulls back to sprinkle  it with salt from the shaker that’s mysteriously appeared. He pushes Dex down gently on the table, his hands lingering until Ransom offers him a shot glass of tequila and Holster holds out a lime wedge for Dex to pop into his mouth.

He lifts his head a little and looks down to where Derek is standing between his legs, shot glass poised in his hand. One corner of Derek’s mouth curls up in that stupid, maddening smirk and then he tips the glass, cool, sticky tequila filling Dex’s navel and running over his abs.

Derek chases every tiny rivulet of tequila with his tongue, painstakingly licking Dex’s abs clean before drinking the remaining alcohol out of his navel, It’s sticky and uncomfortable and it’s also one of the hottest experiences of Dex’s life. By the time Derek crawls up his body to lick the salt off his collarbone, Dex is achingly hard in his jeans. Derek’s tongue curls into his mouth, warm and wet, to take the lime slice, his weight pressing Dex into the table, his cock hard against Dex’s thigh.

Dex almost forgets that they’re in the middle of a party, that Derek is already buzzed at the very least, that none of this is real. But the cheers and yells of the crowd around them are just too loud to ignore, so he pulls back instead of deepening the kiss like he wants to.

“Now that’s what I call fucking teamwork!” Ransom yells, high-fiving Holster. “Your turn, Nurse!”

Derek rolls to the side, pulling his shirt off, or trying to. He gets a little stuck and Dex has to help him. It’s easier than it should be to slide down to stand between Derek’s thighs, to lean down and lick up the shallow dent between his pecs, to shake the salt over his skin and watch it glitter in the flashing lights from the dance floor.

He takes the shot glass from Ransom without taking his eyes off Derek; the other boy grins lazily up at Dex before popping the lime wedge into his mouth. He’s spread out on the table like a feast, muscular chest and arms shining just a little with sweat, long legs in low-slung denim, and Dex wants to ignore the crowded room and gorge himself.

“While we’re young, Poindexter,” Ransom teases, bringing Dex back to Earth with a jolt. He tips the shot glass, watching the amber liquid flow over Derek’s slightly darker skin before leaning down to gather it on his tongue, burning-sweet and a little salty from sweat. Derek’s abs quiver under him and Dex can’t resist scraping his teeth lightly over the skin, just to feel the shiver that runs through the other boy’s body.

Derek’s hand lands on the back of Dex’s head, fingers threading through his hair. Dex follows a trickle of tequila down the groove of muscle that arrows downward under the waistband of Derek’s jeans, sliding his tongue under the fabric just in case. He follows the trail of crisp, dark hair back up, dipping his tongue into Derek’s navel to chase the last lingering drops.

Dex slides up a little farther, leaning down to lick the salt off Derek’s chest, and Derek’s hips roll up under him, grinding his cock against Dex’s stomach. When Dex moves up to take the lime out of his mouth, his cock lines up with Derek’s, and they both make a noise that is hopefully lost in the sounds of the party around them. He shudders into the kiss, breathing deeply and trying desperately not to come in his pants in front of everyone. Derek’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling it just a little. It takes everything Dex has not to moan.

But then hands are pulling them off the table, Holster ripping off his tank top as Ransom pushes him down. Dex spits the lime wedge into the trash can that someone, probably Bitty, left by the table and pulls his shirt back on, wincing a little at the leftover stickiness on his belly.

Derek is doing the same thing next to him, close enough that Dex can feel his body heat even in the crowded room. He curls into Dex’s side as soon as his shirt is on, warm and soft and clinging. Dex can practically feel the last of his fear shatter under the weight of how much he wants this. How much he wants Derek.

“Dex,” the boy in question singsongs. “Dexy, Dexy, Dexy. Sexy Dexy.” He giggles when he stumbles over the syllables.

Dex shakes his head. “Two, huh?” He just barely keeps them from tipping over as Derek suddenly lists even harder into him.

“Maaaaaybe three,” Derek allows, his mouth curling into a dopey grin. “I forget. I didn’t have time to eat much before the game.”

“We should get some water into you,” Dex says, steering him toward the kitchen. “And then get you back to the dorm while you can still walk, because I’m not carrying your drunk ass across campus.”

Derek pouts at him, fluttering his ridiculously long eyelashes. “Awwww. But I wanna dance!”

“If you try to dance right now you’re gonna fall on your hockey butt,” Dex says, patiently towing his--towing Derek through the kitchen door, under Bitty’s sign (“Hockey Team members ONLY”) and opening the fridge. “Get some water, maybe see if there’s anything to soak up that tub juice.”

“Okay.” Derek accepts the bottle of water and drinks obediently. Dex has to avert his eyes from the way Derek’s throat works as he swallows, looking around the shadowed kitchen in desperate hope of a distraction.

The silence draws his eyes back to Derek. Even in the dimness of the unlit kitchen, Derek practically glows, or maybe that’s Dex’s stupid sappy feelings talking. The empty water bottle dangles loosely in his long fingers, swinging slowly back and forth as he watches Dex, his eyes soft.

“What?” Dex asks, but he doesn’t snap like he would have a couple months ago. Even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

“I wanna dance,” Derek says again, hesitantly this time.

Dex shrugs. “I’m not stopping you.” God knows he’s spent worse nights than holding up a wall, watching Derek move to the music throbbing through the Haus like a heartbeat.

Derek sets the water bottle carefully on the counter and holds out a hand to Dex. “Dance with me?”

Maybe it’s the tequila, maybe it’s these feelings sitting warmly behind his breastbone, but there’s no way Dex can do anything but take Derek’s offered hand. “I’ll probably step on your feet,” he warns.

“Nah,” Derek says cheerfully, a smile spreading across his face. He turns toward the den, towing Dex along behind him. “I got you.”

By the time they work their way into the moving mass of bodies, the song is changing to something slower, with a low, sexy, beat. It’s even louder in here, the bass line vibrating in Dex’s chest until his heartbeat follows along.

Derek reaches back with his free hand and pulls Dex’s arms around his waist. Dex hooks his chin over Derek’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way Derek’s ass is pressing up against his cock, which never entirely subsided and is definitely trying to take a renewed interest.

Dex’s fingers tighten on Derek’s abs as the other boy starts to move, his ass grinding slowly back against Dex. Derek reaches up and curls one hand around the back of Dex’s neck, his other hand wrapping around Dex’s hip and pulling him even closer, until Dex can’t help but move with him.

It feels like a moment outside of time. Dex does his best to fix it into his memory, every little detail. The smell of beer and sweat. The dim glow of the fairy lights strung up throughout the Haus. The lingering taste of tequila on his tongue. The syncopated rhythm of the drum and guitar that they move to. The soft, warm skin of Derek’s neck where Dex can’t help but press his lips, the pressure of Derek’s fingers on Dex’s hip.

All too soon, though, the song flows into a new, faster one, and Derek stumbles a little. Dex takes the opportunity to pull him out of the crush.

“Come on,” he says, leaning in to speak directly in Derek’s ear. “We danced. Let’s get you to bed.”

Derek allows himself to be led toward the Haus door, holding onto Dex’s hand the entire way. Dex somehow manages to locate both their coats with just one hand and cajole Derek into letting go long enough for them to put them on.

They step out of the front door and the cold, brisk air is a pleasant shock after the overcrowded warmth of the Haus. Derek apparently doesn’t agree, since he’s trying to burrow into Dex’s side.

“Let’s go,” Dex sighs, wrapping his arm around Derek and surrendering to the inevitable.

They make it across campus without major incident. Dex gets Derek to his room, helps him with his boots, and makes sure he has a bottle of water and painkillers handy for the morning. His eyes flutter closed and Dex makes his escape to his own room.

He unlocks his phone, types the text and sends it in one quick rush before he can talk himself out of it.

He half-expects to lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, but the exhaustion from the day’s practice and the game have him out like a light almost as soon as his head hits the pillow

* * *

 Derek blinks blearily awake the next morning and instantly regrets it. The thin, cloudy light coming in through his window is still too bright for his throbbing head and his mouth is Sahara-dry and tastes like death. Even blinking hurts.

He fumbles for his phone, swiping blindly at the screen, to check the time. What he notices instead, though, squinting to read through the pain, is the text notification on his screen from the night before.

**Dex: Brunch at Jerry’s in the morning? We need to talk**

His stomach, already uneasy, flips queasily. His memories from the night before are fragmented, just bits and pieces. Pale, freckled skin glistening with liquid, the taste of salt and lime and tequila on his tongue, Dex’s weight pinning him down. Moving in a slow, filthy grind to a low, throbbing drumbeat, Dex’s warm, muscled frame pressed against him. Looking at Dex through the darkness of Bitty’s kitchen, holding out his hand. Did something else happen? Something he can’t remember? Something that Dex needs to talk to him about?

He half expects his hands to be shaking, but they’re steady as he taps out a reply.

**Me: Just woke up. Give me 30?**

He almost drops the phone when it buzzes in his hand.

**Dex: Meet you downstairs**

Derek forces himself out of bed and down the hall into the shower, kicking himself for not asking for hour. At least Jerry’s will have coffee.

By the time he struggles out of the shower, into his clothes, and heading toward the lobby, Derek is painfully aware that he’s past his 30 minutes. The ibuprofen has kicked in enough to let him hurry down the stairs. He bursts into the lobby, expecting Dex to be fuming at having to wait.

“I’m here, I’m sorry. I’m ready, let’s go…” he babbles, heading for the door at top speed, feeling more than seeing Dex follow in his wake. It’s dumb, he knows, but if he keeps walking and keeps talking, he can hold off the impending conversation a little longer.

He does his best to let his mouth run as they make their way across campus toward Jerry’s, but the words start to run out before they’re even halfway there. They walk the rest of the way in silence, Derek’s stomach growing more uneasy with each step. His hands feel cold and awkward, and it takes him almost the whole walk to realize that it’s because he’s not holding Dex’s hand.

They slide into a booth and place their orders without looking at the menu, grabbing filled coffee cups gratefully. The silence that falls once the waitress leaves is even more tense than the walk over. Derek can practically feel it twisting tighter and tighter, stretching thin and brittle between them until snaps. Or he snaps. He’s not quite sure.

“You wanted to talk.” The words come out more accusatory than he’d planned, but they’re there, hanging in the air. “So talk.”

Dex nods, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. “It’s been seven weeks.”

“Yeah.” Derek swallows thickly, remembering the cabin. The kissing. Everything.

“You haven’t said anything,” Dex persists, his face flushing. “You’ve still been acting like we--like I--like it’s real.”

“So have you.” Derek forces himself to meet Dex’s eyes. “What do you want, Dex? You want to tell everybody that we were faking it? That none of it was real?”

“No!” Dex looks around guiltily and lowers his voice. His face is flushed almost as dark as his hair, but he meets Derek’s eyes squarely. “No, that’s not what I want. I want--I want it to be real.”

Derek shakes his head a little. He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Maybe that fever isn’t completely gone after all. “You what?”

Dex rolls his eyes. Very convincing hallucination. “I want to date you for real, dumbass. I want the lunch dates and the evening dates. I want to save you pie and calm you down when you’re not ‘chill.’ I want to make out with you at kegsters and then drag you back to my room or yours and have crazy sex.”

“Oh,” Derek says, a little weakly. “Is that all?”

“Well, right now I want you to tell me if you want it too,” Dex says. HIs voice is impatient, but his eyes are uncertain.

Derek reaches across the table and grabs Dex’s hand. He doesn’t feel like a hallucination. He feels like Dex, warm and solid and real. “I want it too,” he says.

The smile on Dex’s face is like every poem Derek’s ever read about sunrises. He has to slide into the other side of the booth, has to kiss that smile, taste its sweetness on his lips. It’s soft and sweet.

Like the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, the song I imagined them dancing to is [_Maria, Maria_ by Carlos Santana ft. The Product G &B](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPLV7lGbmT4)
> 
> Next up, the alternate ending, then we'll finish it off with a schmoopy, smutty epilogue! Thanks to everyone who's read, commented, subscribed, and left kudos!!!! It means a lot to know that you like this story!!!!


	9. B. Easier For You To Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been six weeks. Time to end this charade.
> 
> They're fine.
> 
> Or, what would've happened if they'd actually followed through with the original plan and stopped pretending to date after six weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! I updated again! It's almost like I'm doing this on something like a regular basis. 
> 
> Title, again, from _Arms_ by Christina Perri

“Did you tell them?” Derek asks on the way to team breakfast. “While I was sick?”

Dex considers playing dumb, but only for a second. “I was with you most of the time, remember? Besides, I wanted you there to help answer questions.”

Derek nods, the corners of his mouth tight. “Okay.”

They walk the rest of the way to the dining hall in silence. Derek waits for Dex to sit down and then takes a place on the other side of the table, far enough down that they’ll have to speak up to hear each other.

Chowder is, of course, the first one to notice. “Dex!” he says in what he probably thinks is a quiet voice. “Are you okay? Did you guys break up?”

“No,” Dex says shortly, taking a bite of eggs.

Chowder waits for a minute, until it becomes clear that no further information is forthcoming, then looks helplessly across the table at Derek. “We didn’t break up,” Derek confirms, buttering his toast. “We weren’t ever dating.”

“I--You--” Chowder’s eyes dart back and forth between them, like he’s waiting for the punchline. “What?”

Dex swallows his eggs. “We got annoyed when you guys dumped us at that cabin. So we decided to pretend we were dating.”

“Really?” Bitty leans in from his end of the table, his eyes skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was actually dating someone,” Derek retorts, his voice disdainful in the way that always gets Dex’s back up. “I mean, you guys can’t tell me you actually bought it?”

Ransom and Holster share a look.”You had lunch dates, bro,” Ransom says. 

“You took him on that tour of the chocolate factory,” Holster adds. “And you wouldn’t let anybody else come.”

Shitty shakes his head mournfully. “You made out at kegsters, bros. What the fuck were we supposed to think?”

“But--” Chowder sputters, sounding for all the world like the old lawnmower engine at home. “But you--but I--and you--”

Bitty eyes both of them sharply, but Jack interrupts before he can say anything. “As long as it doesn’t affect your play, it’s none of our business,” he pronounces.

Suddenly it’s too much for Dex; Bitty’s suspicious eyes, Ransom and Holster’s skeptical expressions, Chowder’s crestfallen face. Lardo hasn’t said anything, but she’s eyeing him and he’s pretty sure she knows. He’s pretty sure they all know, and they’re just being nice, trying not to mention his hopeless, obvious crush. It’s too much. He has to get out.

He shovels the last of his food into his mouth as fast as he can without choking, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and pushes back from the table to take the tray and dishes back. He knows he should go back to the table, say something, make some excuse, but he can’t. He needs to not be here.

He leaves the dining hall without looking back. 

* * *

By the time Derek makes it out of the dining hall to practice, he’s hanging onto the appearance of chill by his fingernails. Nobody was really surprised when Dex just left without a word, least of all Derek. But that left him to bear the brunt of their friends’ questions and skeptical looks and he is so very done. If one more person asks him if he’s sure, if they really were faking everything--Derek isn’t sure what he’s going to do, but he’s pretty sure it will be dramatic.

Fortunately, Jack also seems fed up with the topic. He hustles them through gearing up and onto the ice so fast that no one has time to ask anyone anything. Derek has never been more grateful for the kind of focus hockey requires. It doesn’t matter who you’re dating or if it was real or how much you wanted it to be. All that matters is if you can play the game.

Derek halfway expects it to be awkward to be playing with Dex now, that for some reason they won’t connect the way they have been for the past six weeks. But they move across the ice like a well-oiled machine, like the extra time they’d spent together had given them the same kind of connection as Ransom and Holster, the ability to pretty much read each other’s minds. He knows where Dex is without looking, like he’s some mythical creature with two bodies and the other half of him is just across the ice.

If Derek has to keep reminding himself not to reach out, not to touch, if the two halves have to stay separate, well. That’s the price he pays for agreeing to this stupid idea in the first place.

* * *

Dex can’t remember anymore what he thought would happen when everything was over. He’d had some vague idea that they’d slide back into a milder, friendlier version of their old back-and-forth. He’d expected it to be a relief, not to have to constantly remind himself that none of the kisses and touches and pretty words were real. He’d told himself it won’t be that bad, that he’s survived worse.

It’s terrible.

They have to sit next to each other on the way to to the roadie that weekend because no one on the team will let them mess with a pre-game ritual, just in case. Their shoulders bump together, both of them too big to sit together comfortably. Dex grits his teeth to keep from lashing out and does his best to involve Chowder in working on their latest assignment. Never mind that it’s not due for a month; it keeps him from doing something stupid like wrapping an arm around Derek’s shoulder or absentmindedly taking his hand.

Despite the pleading look Dex sends her, Lardo acts like there’s nothing weird about them staying in the same room. He tries not to resent the urgent whispered conversation Derek has with her or the fact that it didn’t work. 

Even exhausted from a long, brutal game, it takes forever for Dex to fall asleep that night. He kind of hates himself for how much time he spends staring at Derek in the dim light of the hotel room, long lashes resting on ridiculous cheekbones, full lips parted slightly. How much time he spends wishing he could slide between those sheets and wrap himself around Derek.

When he finally drifts off, Dex discovers that he can’t even escape into dreams. His sleep is full of disjointed memory-fragments and wishes. Derek’s skin, warm and smooth under Dex’s hands and mouth, the little noises he makes when Dex kisses him, touches him. The small, secret smiles when Dex compliments him or holds his hand, the little blushes that no one else looks closely enough to notice.

Dex wakes up snarly and disoriented, like he hadn’t actually slept. Jerking off in the shower doesn’t help, not when his brain is so fixated on Derek, when his body is so conditioned to respond. Just the lingering smell of Derek’s stupid body wash is enough to get Dex instantly, painfully hard and it’s infuriating.

“Hey, Dex, didja sleep well?” Chowder asks as he slides into a chair in the breakfast buffet area.

Dex can’t control the scowl on his face or the little growl that escapes him, but guilt mixes with the stew of anger and resentment in his gut as Chowder flinches back. Bitty gives him a disappointed look from the next table over and Dex slouches down in his chair, feeling remarkably like he’s thirteen again. 

Everything is terrible

* * *

Derek promises himself at least five times a day that he will never, ever, as long as he lives,  _ ever _ again pretend to be dating someone. Although, he usually amends, it would be fine if it’s someone that he’s actually, genuinely friends with. Someone who doesn’t hate him before and after. Someone that he doesn’t  _ actually _ want to date.

Basically, anyone who’s not Dex would be fine. 

But as much it sucks now, with Dex back to snapping and snarling at him and Derek unable not to wind him back up, Derek can’t bring himself to completely regret “dating” Dex. Above all else he tries to be honest with himself. If he had a time machine or a way to communicate with his past self, Derek’s pretty sure he’d still do the exact same thing. Because when it comes to William Poindexter, Derek is an idiot.

That doesn’t mean he’s enjoying himself. No matter what the Romantics thought, suffering for love is only fun if you’re a masochist or if you have enough money that you can afford to sit around all day looking introspective for your portrait artist. But Derek’s doing okay. He’s got classes and practice and games and yeah, having to see Dex constantly sucks, but he’s dealing. With finals rapidly approaching, he’s really too busy to think about the fact that he can’t hold Dex’s hand or cuddle with him on the couch or see those little, secret smiles anymore. 

He can’t actually remember the last time he saw Dex smile, come to think of it.

* * *

Dex eyes Derek warily as they approach the Haus door. Derek looks--he always looks good--but it’s brittle in a way Dex doesn’t want to notice. Like he might shatter if someone pushes too hard. Dex glances around at all the cheap Christmas decorations on all of the frat houses and resolves to make sure Derek knows he’s still invited for Christmas. 

Later. By text. After Dex has had a little time to brace himself for a week and a half of Derek.

Dex gets to the porch first and holds the door for Derek, because he’s not a complete asshole. The Haus is eerily quiet as they head wordlessly toward the kitchen. Dex stops dead as he walks through the door, only barely registering the way that Derek runs into his back, the way that Derek steadies himself with his hands on Dex’s hips.

Because the rest of the team is sitting at the table, clearly waiting for them. Behind him, Derek breathes, “Oh, shit,” and Dex is in wholehearted agreement.

Goddamnit, not again.

* * *

“Well,” Derek says inanely when the door to his dorm room closes behind Ransom and Holster. “At least they didn’t drive us out to the middle of the woods this time?”

Dex huffs out an annoyed breath, flopping down onto Derek’s bed. “Yeah. I guess. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Do they think they can lock us in here until we make out like some kind of twisted version of Seven Minutes In Heaven?”

Derek’s whole body goes hot at the mental image. “I think Bitty’s just mad you keep snapping at Chowder.”

“Oh, like you’ve been Mister Chill,” Dex shoots back, his eyes flashing. “You just about fought that guy in our last game. I thought Ransom and Holster were gonna have to sit on you.”

“Whatever,” Derek mutters, curling his hands into fists. He can’t tackle Dex down onto the bed. They’re not doing that. “It’s fine.”

Dex raises skeptical eyebrows at him. “Right. The sixteen pens you’ve chewed into oblivion this week say otherwise.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Why do you care, Poindexter?”

“Because I don’t want to lose my fucking scholarship,” Dex yells, surging to his feet until they’re chest to chest. “I know you don’t give a shit, rich boy, but some of us can’t afford full tuition. So get your shit together, Nurse. You’re acting like we actually broke up! It. Wasn’t.  _ Real _ .”

Derek actually, physically shakes with how much he wants to hit Dex right now. “You think I don’t fucking know that?” he grinds out. “You think I could forget? Bet you were laughing about it; Nursey’s so pathetic, he never had a boyfriend. It must’ve sucked for you, having to pretend to be into me for so long.”

Dex growls, throwing up his hands. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, Nurse, cause  _ goddamn _ you’re dumb. What the fuck have I ever done to make you think I’m that good of an actor?”

Derek blinks at him. What?

“What?” 

Dex rolls his eyes, fists his hands in the front of Derek’s shirt, and yanks, crushing their mouths together. It’s fast and hungry and desperate and everything Derek didn’t think he was ever going to have again. He whines when Dex tears his mouth away.

“Did that feel like pretending to you?” Dex demands impatiently.

Derek licks his lips, tries desperately to kickstart his brain into more complex thoughts than  _ hot wet Dex want _ . “Um. I. You. What?”

“I. Wasn’t. Pretending.” Dex enunciates slowly. 

“Oh,” Derek says dumbly. 

Dex drops his hands. “Fuck this. I’m out. I swear, Nurse, if you ever fucking chirp me about this--if you tell  _ anyone _ \--”

Derek’s brain finally, finally kicks into gear in time for him to catch Dex’s sleeve. “Dex, wait.”

“Why?” Dex demands, still turned away, his hands clenched at his sides. “So you can laugh about it? I know I’m an idiot. The whole team’s mad at me. I don’t need you making fun of me on top of it.”

“No.” Derek can’t stop the smile that’s spreading across his face. He slides his arms around Dex’s waist, pressing up against his back. Dex is stiff and unresponsive in his arms, but he shivers when Derek presses his mouth right under his ear. “So I can do this,” he breathes, watching the goosebumps rise on Dex’s skin.

“Oh, is it pity fuck time?” Dex asks weakly. His words are disdainful, but he isn’t moving, except to lean into Derek, almost imperceptibly.

“Dex,” Derek says helplessly, because it is fucking ridiculous how gone he is on this boy. “Dex.” He pauses, savoring the name on his tongue. “I wasn’t pretending either.”

Dex shudders, his eyes sliding closed. “Derek.” His voice is barely audible. “Don’t--I can’t--”

Derek kisses his neck again, lower this time, soft and open-mouthed. “Dex,” he says again. “You tell me to stop and I’ll stop. We never have to talk about this again. But I want you to know--it was real for me. Everything we did, everything I said. They were the best weeks of my life and it was killing me because you didn’t feel the same way.”

“I did,” Dex says roughly, turning in his arms. His hands hang in the air for a moment before landing on Derek’s hips. “I do.”

“Good,” Derek says. They stand like that, breathing each other’s air, just inches apart. Dex’s eyes are wide and dark, just the thinnest ring of gold around his pupil, his face flushed a delicate pink behind the galaxy of freckles scattered across his skin. Derek knows he’s staring; he wants to keep this memory forever, clear and vivid like a photo for the rest of his life. But all too soon he succumbs to the magnetic pull of Dex’s body, closing the distance between them and kissing him.

It starts off soft, almost chaste. In a way, this is their first real kiss, and Derek can feel the newness, the nervous excitement fluttering in his stomach. But it’s also familiar; he knows the shape of Dex’s lips, the taste of his mouth, the little noises he makes. 

Derek has no idea how long they kiss like that, slow and soft and leisurely. But either he moves or Dex does, slotting their legs together, and then there’s no ignoring the way Dex’s erection is pressed insistently against his hip, or how good the friction of Dex’s thigh feels against his cock. The kiss turns frantic, hot and wet and as filthy as the way they grind up against each other, until Derek stumbles back a step and bumps into the bed. They go sprawling, Dex’s weight landing on Derek, forcing the air out of his lungs in a whoosh. 

That’s not the only reason he’s breathless, though. Not with Dex smirking wickedly down at him and shifting to settle between his legs, grinding down against him with a spectacularly filthy roll of his hips. 

“Oh, God,” Derek groans, his hands coming up as if of their own volition to wrap around Dex’s hips. His thumbs slide up under the hem of Dex’s flannel, pushing up until they find skin. “Please tell me you don’t want to take it slow.”

Dex keeps moving, slow and dirty, as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Well, we did already have like five dates.”

“Six,” Derek corrects, rocking his hips up to meet Dex. “More if you count the lunch dates.”

“Exactly,” Dex says, peeling his flannel off and dropping it on the floor. “I think we took it plenty slow.” 

“Fuck,” Derek says fervently. Every other word evaporates from his head as he watches the sinuous movements of Dex’s upper body, his abs bunching and releasing hypnotically under Derek’s thumbs. He moves his hands up to feel, mesmerized by the contrast between the dusky warmth of his skin and the pale gold of Dex’s. “Fuck, Dex.”

Dex leans down, planting his hands on either side of Derek’s head, their faces inches apart, still moving in that slow, relentless grind. “Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, “how many times I jerked off thinking about this? I swear, after that fucking kegster, it took me ten seconds flat to get off. I barely touched myself.”

Derek shudders. “Same,” he says hoarsely. “I barely got the door closed. Good thing Chad was out or he would’ve gotten a free show.”

Dex nips sharply at his lower lip. “No shows. I’m the only one who gets to see you like that.”

Derek whimpers. He’s not sure if it’s from the possessive tone or from Dex’s hands pushing up his sweater, stroking over Derek’s stomach, callouses rasping over his skin. It’s too good, but he wants it to be good for both of them, not for him to come in his pants like it’s his first time making out with somebody. 

“We need to be more naked,” he says, proud of himself for stringing together a coherent sentence, even if his voice is pretty breathless.

“I am so on board with that plan,” Dex agrees, helping Derek work his sweater up over his head before leaning down to press his mouth to Derek’s collarbone. “Goddamn, I missed this. Missed you.”

Derek swallows, pulling Dex back up for a kiss. “Missed you too, babe.”

He’s a little proud of the way he manages to get his hands between them and get Dex’s jeans open while they’re kissing; he might not have been with a guy before, but he’s got skills, many of which are apparently transferable. He slides his hands down under the waistband, pushing it down and getting a good handful of Dex’s ass at the same time, smiling a little when Dex moans into the kiss and tears his mouth away to pant into Derek’s chest.

“Fuck, babe,” Derek says, squeezing a little. “There’s so many things I want to do. I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m close,” Dex breathes, lifting his head. “We’ve got time. We can do whatever you want. I just--this time I want to see you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek echoes, kissing him again. This boy. 

They work together to get Derek’s pants open, and he manages somehow to not come on the spot when Dex strokes his cock. He has to grab Dex’s wrist, though, when he goes to do it again. “I’m close, too.”

“I’ve got you,” Dex says, leaning back and pushing his boxers down to let his cock spring free. 

Derek’s mouth waters, watching Dex wrap his hand around the head and slide it down, spreading the precome with a practiced motion. He’s never given a blowjob before, but he wants to, wants to see what Dex looks like when he’s overwhelmed with sensation.

Dex leans back down, shifting his weight to align their cocks together, and the touch of skin on skin is amazing, overwhelming. And then Dex wraps his hand around both of them and starts to move, pumping his hand up and down while his hips resume that slow, maddening grind.

Derek throws his head back on the pillow, his eyes sliding closed. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, his breath escaping in a long, shuddering exhale. “Fuck, babe, you feel so good.” 

“I’m--” Dex breaks off with a gasp. “Fuck. I’m so close. I’m so close, Derek.”

“Come on,” Derek babbles, for once not thinking about his words. “Come on, babe. Want you to come all over me, get me filthy. Come on, Will, come for me--”

Dex’s hips lose their steady rhythm, thrusting jerkily as he comes warm and slick and  wet between them. Derek lets go of the control he’s been barely holding onto and follows him, no room for anything in his mind except Dex when he comes.

When he can focus again, Dex is still braced above him, his head hanging down as he shudders through an aftershock. Moments later, he collapses gracelessly on top of Derek, squishing the mess of semen unpleasantly between their chests.

“Ew,” Derek protests, but he can’t put much effort into it. Not when he’s got Dex cuddling up to him.

“Hey, it’s half yours,” Dex points out, nuzzling his face into Derek’s neck.

Derek rubs his hands up and down Dex’s back, luxuriating in the chance to touch. They lay there in silence for long minutes, their breathing evening out, the thump of their hearts against each other slowing down.

Dex is the one who breaks the silence. “So…” 

“So?” Derek prompts, blinking his eyes back open.

“We, uh.” Dex sucks in a deep breath. “We’re dating, right? For real? Officially?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Derek retorts, pulling Dex’s face up for a kiss. “I still haven’t gotten to blow you.”

Dex shudders all over. “You can’t  _ say _ shit like that,” he complains, but he’s smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end! I'm going to do a schmoopy smutty epilogue because I like writing fluff, especially after torturing these idiots for the better part of 30k words (side note: holy shit? How?) and then this fic will be finished! I do have plans to write more Check Please and NurseyDex, but I have some deadlines that need to be met (although I may sneak in some short things just to keep my hand in)
> 
> Huge, enormous thanks to everyone who came along for this ride, who subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos and comments! Knowing that you guys were waiting for updates was a big part of what pushed me to keep going.
> 
> As always, if you like flailing over idiot hockey boys, pictures of Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, and other pretty celebrities, or other random things, you can [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dex takes Derek home for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smutty, sappy epilogue that you all deserve!!! I appreciate your patience in waiting for this one; once again, I overextended myself and had to write frantically on other things to meet some deadlines, not to mention making Halloween costumes for my kids (pro tip; don't wait until the week before Halloween to start if you're making the costumes). Anyway, I hope you like it!!!

Dex turns off the truck and looks across the cab at his boyfriend. “You ready for this?”

“No,” Derek says immediately. His lower lip is bitten red and he’s staring through the windshield at Dex’s mom’s house with a look better suited to crocodile-infested rivers or live minefields than the gray clapboard house in front of them. “No. We can still go back to Samwell. If we leave now we’ll be back by like ten. Let’s do that.”

“Derek,” Dex laughs, leaning over to kiss him. This boy. “It’s gonna be fine. My mom is gonna love you.”

Derek clutches at his shirt, eyes frantic. “You don’t know that! What if she hates me? What if she tries to break us up?”

“Name one person who’s ever hated you,” Dex scoffs, gently detaching Derek’s hands and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You did.” Derek settles into his corner and crosses his arms across his chest, pouting. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

Dex gets out and circles the truck to open Derek’s door. His boyfriend stays stubbornly planted in his seat, still refusing to move.

“Wanna know a secret?” Dex asks, using his most coaxing tone.

Derek’s mouth twitches, despite his best efforts. “Sure.”

Dex climbs up on the running board, leaning in, one hand braced on Derek’s thigh, until his lips brush Derek’s ear. “I never hated you.”

“Yeah, right,” Derek snorts.

“I didn’t,” Dex insists, pulling back to look him in the eye. Shit, apparently Derek actually believes this. “You drove me insane, with your ‘chill’ and your stupid face. But I didn’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Derek lifts a hand to Dex’s cheek, his eyes searching. Whatever he finds there makes his whole face relax, his shoulders sag back down. “You like my stupid face,” he jokes, his voice still just a shade uncertain.

“I love your stupid face,” Dex corrects, leaning in to brush a kiss over those ridiculous cheekbones. “I love you, dumbass.”

He’ll never get used to the way Derek glows when he hears those words, like his happiness is physically radiating off of him. “Love you, too, babe.”

Dex has to kiss him, has to see if he can taste that glow on his lips. It starts out soft and sweet, but Derek’s lips part under his, his hands tug at Dex’s hair. Dex presses closer, licking into Derek’s mouth, forgetting where they’re standing until the front door bangs open behind him.

“Billy! Mom says to stop making out with your boyfriend and get inside!” his sister Sarah yells, her voice gleeful.

Dex tears himself away reluctantly and flips her off without looking. Just-kissed Derek is one of his favorite sights; heavy eyes, wide dark pupils, mouth wet and red from kissing. Dex savors it for a second before Derek realizes what just happened and buries his flushing face in Dex’s chest.

“I can’t,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Dex’s flannel jacket like a cat. “Leave me here to die. I can’t do it.”

Dex hits the latch to unbuckle his seatbelt and pulls his idiot boyfriend out of the truck. “Come on. You’re gonna be fine. They don’t bite.”

“No, that’s you,” Derek retorts.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Dex murmurs, pitching his voice low enough that only Derek can hear it as they walk toward the porch.

Derek shoots him a dirty look. “I’m about to meet your family. You can’t _say_ shit like that.”

“Like what?” Sarah asks, her eyes wide.

Derek starts to stammer but Dex just shakes his head. “Derek, this is Sarah. She might look like she’s twelve, but her brain is that of an ancient evil genius. Sarah, this is my boyfriend, Derek. Be nice to him or I’ll steal parts out of your sewing machine and take them back with me.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he says pleasantly. “I’d hate for you to have to sew your costumes by hand.”

Sarah tries to stare him down for another minute before giving up and turning to Derek, her “impressing adults” smile firmly in place. “Nice to meet you, Derek. Brace yourself.”

She opens the door, letting out a wash of warmth and light and innumerable voices all talking at once. Dex catches the door, Derek’s hand slides into his, and they step inside together.

* * *

The Poindexter house is sensory overload, and Derek is still a little dazed by the time Dex nudges him through the buffet-style dinner line and leads him into the living room where it’s a little quieter. The children and younger teenagers are all around the dining room table; Dex has a truly staggering amount of siblings and cousins and none of them hold still long enough for Derek to get an accurate idea of how many there might be.

For the moment, they’re alone in the living room. Derek sinks onto the couch Dex indicates, setting his drink on the side table, and tries to make his sigh of relief not too terribly obvious.

“How’re you holding up?” Dex asks quietly, sitting down next to him, close enough that their thighs press together and their shoulders bump familiarly.

“I’m good,” Derek says honestly, because he is. It’s a little overwhelming, but in the best possible ways. And Dex has been with him for all of it; even when Dex’s mom--”Please, call me Shannon”--pulled him into a startling but very nice hug, Dex had been holding his hand. Derek leans into him a little now, lets the touch and the solid, reassuring warmth of Dex ground him. “Your family’s great.”

Dex shakes his head. “If by ‘great’ you mean loud, obnoxious, and overly ginger, then yeah.”

Derek bumps him with his shoulder. “Don’t front, Poindexter, you love it.”

“Why do you think I spent so much time doing homework at the Haus?” Dex spoons up some of his chowder and closes his eyes for a minute, obviously savoring it before swallowing. “It was way too quiet in my room. I couldn’t focus.”

Derek gets lost for a minute looking at his boyfriend--and he still gets a little thrill every time he thinks that without correcting himself. Every time he thinks he’s discovered everything there is to know about Dex, he finds another side. Here, in this comfortable, lived-in house, Dex is relaxed and easy in a way Derek’s never fully seen before.

“What?” Dex asks, his voice fond.

Derek shakes his head a little, turning his attention back to his food when his stomach growls. “Nothing. I just like seeing you happy.”

Dex flushes, ducking his head.

Before either of them can say anything else, Dex’s mom--Shannon, Derek reminds himself--and various aunts and uncles whose names he’s still fuzzy on start filtering into the living room with their own plates. They settle into their chosen seats with the air of weary generals (and having witnessed a little of what it took to get the children situated at the table, Derek sympathizes completely).

“So, Derek,” Shannon says, smiling brightly at him. Derek feels his spine straighten as if of its own accord. “Billy says you’re from New York!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, smiling his best charming-but-respectful smile. “Born and raised. But I actually went to boarding school in Massachusetts for several years before going to Samwell, so that feels more like home now.”

“Well, that’s nice then,” she says, loading up her fork. “That you got to stay where you feel comfortable.”

“Mom, let him eat,” Dex interrupts, his voice fond. “We’re here for five days, you’ll have plenty of time to interrogate him later.”

Shannon gasps in exaggerated mock insult, her eyes twinkling in such a familiar way that Derek gapes for a minute. “William Joseph! I would never interrogate a guest! How dare you! I’m just making polite conversation.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Dex looks decidedly unconvinced. “At least wait until after we eat?”

“Fine,” Shannon says, turning to ask one of the aunts about if someone’s broken toe has healed yet.

Dex squeezes Derek’s knee for a minute. “Sorry about that.”

Derek shrugs one shoulder. “You brought me home for Christmas. I figured that would happen.”

“Also my family is nosy as hell,” Dex says, raising his voice on the last words. His mom just winks at him without missing a beat in her conversation.

“They love you,” Derek answers quietly. It’s true, so obvious it’s practically visible from space, even to a newcomer like him. He knows Dex’s family life hasn’t always been perfect, has pieced together bits and pieces Dex told him during their “dates” and more he’s said since they started dating for real. But even someone as rusty at families as Derek can recognize the genuine affection in this house, between these people. “They just want to be sure I’m good enough for you.”

Dex flushes that gorgeous pink that’s rapidly becoming Derek’s favorite color, but he’s saved from having to answer by the flood of children and teenagers pouring into the room and onto every available surface. Sarah throws herself onto the couch next to Dex, pushing him further into Derek, and a small, chubby child (probably a boy, but Derek isn’t going to rush to assumptions) somehow goes from leaning against Derek’s legs to sitting on his lap with no apparent intermediate steps.

“That’s Connor,” Dex says, smiling a little at the startled expression Derek can feel on his face. “He’s kind of a ninja like that. If you don’t want him there, he can sit with me. Connor, we ask before we sit on people, remember? Can you ask Derek?”

Connor turns big brown eyes on Derek, the chocolatey color few shades darker than the light amber of Dex’s. “Tan I sit wif you?” he asks.

“Sure,” Derek says awkwardly. He doesn’t really do kids, but this little guy might be the cutest human he’s ever seen.

“Fanks!” Connor says brightly, snuggling back against Derek’s chest with the air of a king settling into his rightful throne. Derek’s arm comes up automatically to wrap around him. He’s not sure if that was the right move, but Connor’s chubby little hand pats Derek’s wrist for a minute before curling around his index finger, so it seems like he’s okay with it.

Dex wraps one arm around Derek’s shoulders and reaches over with the other to take his free hand, lacing their fingers together. “Let me know if you need him off, otherwise he’s not going to move.”

“Nah, it’s chill,” Derek says. He wouldn’t know how to handle a kid that was moving around, but Connor’s warm, solid weight on top of him is strangely comforting. It makes Derek happy, in a bittersweet kind of way, to see a kid so totally confident in his welcome.

They settle in for what is apparently the annual Poindexter family Christmas movie marathon, starting with _Home Alone_ , which is surprisingly funny despite being very dated. All the younger kids seem to enjoy it, especially Connor, whose little face is rapt and intent through the entire movie.

After the credits roll, Connor’s mom (Amanda, Derek thinks) makes her way over. “Come on, Connor. Time to go home. Tell Billy and Derek goodnight.”

“Okay,” Connor says cheerfully. He turns and throws his arms around Derek’s neck and plants a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Bye, Derek! Bye, Billy! Doodnight!”

“Night, Connor,” Derek says. A sappy smile spreads across his face as he watches Connor snuggle onto Amanda’s shoulder. They disappear down the hall and he shivers in the draft as the front door opens.

Dex tightens his arm around Derek’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just cold,” Derek says. “That little guy was like a space heater.”

Dex twists around and tugs at something on the back of the couch, unfolding a fleecy blanket and spreading it over both of them. “Better?”

Derek snuggles closer to his boyfriend, savoring his warmth. “Yeah, that’s good.”

The movie marathon continues with _Nightmare Before Christmas_ then, once all of the kids younger than Sarah have gone home or off to bed, _Die Hard._

John McClane has just acquired a machine gun when Dex’s hand starts sliding slowly up Derek’s thigh under the blanket. Derek shifts, moving the hand back toward his knee, and glancing over. Dex’s eyes are fixed on the screen, apparently attentive, but one corner of his mouth is curled up in a little smirk. His hand starts moving again, his fingers trailing up the inseam of Derek’s jeans.

Derek grits his teeth, leaning close enough to whisper in Dex’s ear. “Dude, what the fuck? Your mom is _right there_.”

Dex smirks more, his lips brushing across Derek’s cheek as he turns his head. “She’s gonna go to bed soon. She never lasts through _Die Hard._ ”

“But your sister will still be here,” Derek retorts, grateful for the noise of the movie covering their conversation.

“Okay, fine,” Dex murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just below Derek’s ear, his lips curving as Derek shivers again, but not from cold this time. “Later.”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Derek to focus on the movie again.

* * *

Dex follows Derek up the stairs, anticipation buzzing in his veins. He’d kept his hands to himself for the rest of the movie, not wanting to make Derek uncomfortable, but the excitement fluttering in his stomach built and built until it feels explosive. The only thing restraining him from grabbing Derek and pushing him up against the wall is knowing that Derek would worry about his mom or sister hearing, even though they’ve both long since gone to bed.

Dex opens the door to his room when Derek hesitates, following him inside. The _snick_ of the door locking behind them seems to echo in the space. Derek looks around, clearly curious, and Dex tries to see the room through his eyes: the ceiling sloping down from the eaves, the band posters on the walls, the double bed made up with the blue and green quilt his grandma had made, the gray afghan his mom had knitted thrown over the foot

“Did I ever tell you about when I wanted to be a drummer?” Dex asks.

Derek turns toward him, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Dex nods, moving across the room to close the blinds. “Yeah, for like five years, actually. My family chipped in to get me a cheap drum kit and once my dad figured out I wasn’t going to give it up anytime soon, he soundproofed my room.”

“Oh?” Derek licks his lips, his eyes big and dark as Dex walks back over to him.

“I mean, it’s not perfect,” Dex admits. He wraps his hands around Derek’s hips, slowly pulling him closer, leaning in until their lips are a breath apart. “But I used to turn my stereo up as far as it could go and no one could hear it unless I opened the door. So we can be as loud as we want.”

Dex isn’t sure who moves first, but suddenly they’re kissing hungrily, like they’ve been apart for weeks instead of spending the entire day together. Derek’s hands are in his hair, tugging just right to send sparks dancing down his spine, Derek’s body pressing warm and solid against Dex’s.

They stumble across the room without separating. Dex can’t resist sliding his hands up under Derek’s shirt, finding all that smooth skin and flexing muscle. It’s only been a few hours since he got to touch Derek freely, but Dex still feels starved for it.

“Naked,” he gasps, tearing his mouth away and tugging at Derek’s shirt. “Need you naked.”

Derek pulls his shirt the rest of the way off and strips Dex’s off, too. He pushes Dex down onto the bed, following him down and pressing their chests together. Kissing is a thousand times better skin to skin, with their hearts beating against each other, the sensations of sweat-slick skin and the crisp roughness of hair as they move together.

“Will,” Derek murmurs, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss just under Dex’s jaw. “Wanna blow you. Can I?”

A shiver travels down Dex’s spine. He’s not sure if it’s from Derek’s words or the touch of his lips, trailing kisses down his neck, closing over his collarbone to suck. “Fuck. Yes, Derek, please…”

“Shhh,” Derek soothes. He closes his hands on Dex’s hips, pushing him back down on the bed. “I’ve got you, babe.”

Dex can’t stop the whine rising in the back of his throat. It’s so good--it’s so much. Pinned down under Derek’s eyes and hands and body, there’s no room to do anything but feel. He’s been hard since the first touch of Derek’s mouth to his, but now he’s aching in his jeans, desperate for a touch, for friction.

Derek licks over the other side of his collarbone and bites down, making Dex buck up off the bed in shock. Every inch of his skin feels sensitive, like he’s just one exposed nerve. “Fuck! Derek--”

“Don’t want you coming down to breakfast tomorrow morning with hickeys on your neck,” Derek says, smiling wickedly. “Your mom thinks I’m a nice boy.”

“My mom--fuck!” Dex breaks off as Derek moves lower, flicking his tongue over Dex’s nipple. “My mom knows we’re sleeping in the same room. There’s just one bed. I think she can do the math.”

Derek cocks his head consideringly before leaning back down to catch the other nipple oh-so-delicately between his teeth. He makes a satisfied noise when Dex shudders helplessly under him, drawing it slowly between his teeth before releasing it. “Still. It would be rude.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re worried about marks,” Dex chirps, but Derek is leaving a slow, relentless line of kisses down the center of his belly, so he can’t work up much irritation. “That hickey you gave me last month was probably visible from space!”

“This is different.” Derek looks up at Dex, licking the skin right above his jeans.

Dex does his best to fix the moment in his memory forever; Derek’s eyes, pupils huge and dark, the cocky little quirk of his lips, pink and swollen from kissing, the hot, wet drag of his tongue against the sensitive skin of Dex’s belly. He has to forcibly drag his attention back to their conversation. “What? Why?”

“Because,” Derek says simply, never breaking eye contact as he flicks open the button on Dex’s jeans. “Everybody here already knows that you’re mine.”

“Oh.” Dex has to swallow, hard. “Marking your territory? That’s very caveman. What would Shitty say?”

Derek shrugs. “Don’t care.”

Whatever else he has to say gets lost in the surge of relief as he pulls Dex’s zipper down, relieving the pressure on his cock. He shoves Dex’s boxers and jeans down and Dex lifts his hips to help, letting Derek peel them down his legs and drop them on the floor.

“God, Dex,” Derek breathes. He’s looking at Dex like...Dex’s brain fails him as it searches for a simile and comes up blank. He’s never actually seen anyone look at anyone or anything the way Derek is looking at him right now.

“Do you have any idea?” Derek asks, letting his fingers trace lightly down Dex’s chest. “Any fucking clue how long I wanted this? Back at that fucking cabin, that day you were chopping wood. All I could think about was sucking you off, letting you fuck my mouth until you came.”

“Fuck,” Dex whines, unable to stop the shiver that runs through him. The touch of Derek’s fingers lights up every nerve ending, making his skin so exquisitely sensitive that he swears he can feel Derek’s words like another touch on his body. “Derek, please, God--”

Derek shifts, licking across the head of Dex’s cock before pulling back, the cool air on his damp skin a sharp contrast to the warmth of Derek’s tongue. “Tell me what you want, babe.”

“I want--” Dex cuts off, because his boyfriend is a terrible person who chooses that exact moment to swirl his tongue around the head of Dex’s cock before looking up at him inquiringly.

“Yes?” Derek asks, his face blandly innocent.

“Want you to hold me down while you blow me.” Dex’s face is so hot he’s pretty sure he’ll start sweating any minute now and his words run together in his rush to get them out, his voice barely audible.

Derek’s fingers clench around Dex’s hips for just a minute before he relaxes them. “Are you sure, babe?” He searches Dex’s face, all hints of teasing gone.

Dex nods. “I like it,” he admits, his hands flexing against the sheets.

Derek looks at him for another long minute before he nods. “You have to promise to tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

“Promise,” Dex says solemnly.

“Okay,” Derek says on a shaky exhale.

That’s all the warning Dex gets before Derek’s hands are on his hips again, pressing him into the mattress. He barely has time to suck in a breath before Derek’s mouth closes over his cock, taking him deep in one hot, slick slide. He tries to thrust up instinctively, to go deeper, but he can’t. He’s pinned to the bed, immobilized by his boyfriend’s big, capable hands. It’s probably the best feeling he’s ever experienced.

Dex doesn’t even realize that his hands have moved until Derek lifts up and says “Hands flat on the bed for me.” There’s a snap of something in his voice that has Dex’s hands landing palms down on the sheets before his brain has processed the words.

“Good,” Derek says, his voice fond. There’s no reason that one word should make Dex feel hot all over, should make him shiver, should make his cock twitch. But it does, and he can’t even feel embarrassed about it. Not when Derek’s smiling at him like that.

Derek sucks him down again and Dex’s fingers clutch at the sheet. “Fuck,” he groans, because Derek didn’t say he had to be quiet, and he’s trying to be good, he’s trying _so hard_. “Derek, please, I’m close, please, please--”

His cock hits the back of Derek’s throat and Derek swallows, nothing but _hot rough wet slick_ and Dex is coming, helplessly, the suction of Derek’s mouth around him pulling aftershock after shivery aftershock from him. Until it’s too much, he’s too sensitive, and he’s babbling, “Stop, please,” and Derek pulls off instantly.

Dex floats there for a minute, in that soft, warm, lovely place, safe under Derek’s hands. He whines a little when Derek lets go, but Derek isn’t leaving, just shifting up onto the bed.

His eyes are heavy, but Dex blinks them open in time to see Derek rip his jeans open, his cock springing free. Derek starts jerking himself fast and rough, like he can’t physically stand to go any slower. His lips are moving, and when Dex focuses, he can hear what Derek is saying.

“--so fucking perfect, so good for me. Just amazing, Will, love you so much--”

Dex shudders, his fingers digging into the bed. The movement draws Derek’s gaze; his eyes widen, and it only takes a couple more rough strokes before he’s coming, hot, wet streaks spurting across Dex’s naked chest.

He stays frozen above Dex for a couple of minutes, his chest heaving, before he shuffles awkwardly to the side and collapses onto the bed, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the ceiling where it slopes down into the wall. He throws an arm across Dex’s chest, heedless of the way it smears the semen between their skin.

“I can’t believe you didn’t move your hands,” he mumbles into Dex’s shoulder.

Dex shrugs. “You didn’t tell me to.”

Derek’s head shoots up so fast he almost hits it a second time. “Oh, shit. Um, you can move them. Are you okay? Are they stiff or uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine,” Dex says, flexing his hands experimentally. “It wasn’t that long.”

“Still,” Derek says, his jaw set stubbornly. He takes Dex’s right hand between both of his, massaging it gently but firmly.

Dex is still relaxed enough to admit that it feels awesome. But it’s kind of weird. “Derek. What are you doing?”

“I’m taking care of you,” Derek says firmly, setting Dex’s hand down gently and reaching for the other one.

“Why?” Dex asks.

Derek looks up at him from under those stupidly long, dark lashes that should be ridiculous on his face but aren’t. “You got what you wanted,” he says. “I want to take care of you.”

“Oh,” Dex says. It feels like he should say something else there but he can’t think what. “Okay.”

Derek’s shoulders relax down away from his ears just a little. “Okay,” he echoes.

Dex lets himself just bask, just enjoy his boyfriend taking care of him. It feels good, Derek’s thumbs digging gently into his palm. It’s not great when Derek leaves for a minute, but when he comes back with a warm washcloth and gently cleans Dex’s chest and stomach, it feels lovely. When he strips off his jeans and climbs back into bed, pulling the quilt over both of them and tangling their legs together, it’s perfect.

“Perfect,” Dex mumbles.

Derek’s lips pressed to his temple are the last thing he remembers before he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

For a second when he wakes up, Derek thinks he’s still dreaming. A soft sunlight glow filters through the curtains on the dormer window, but the rest of the room is dim. He’s surrounded by soft sheets and the comforting weight of the blanket over him, cocooned in warmth.

He’s curled around Dex now, an arm slung over his waist, coppery hair tickling his nose. Derek presses a kiss to the back of his neck and Dex sighs, arching back against him.

Derek groans a little when Dex’s ass presses back against him, his cock slipping between the cheeks. “Babe?” he murmurs. “You awake?”

“Nnnnnnnn,” Dex says.

Derek kisses him again, under his ear this time, smiling when he shivers.

“I could be asleep right now,” Dex mutters, but he reaches up to curl a hand around the back of Derek’s neck. “This better be good.”

“Anything you want,” Derek says, kissing his neck again just to feel that shiver run all the way through his body.

Dex sucks in a breath as Derek’s fingers start sliding down his stomach. “That first morning at the cabin? I woke up like this.”

Derek stops for a moment, processing this new information “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dex sighs, his arm moving, his abs flexing under Derek’s hand.

 _Oh._ Derek peers over his shoulder, and, yeah, Dex is sliding his hand over his cock in long, slow strokes. “I didn’t know that.”

“You were still asleep,” Dex says, only the slightest quiver to his voice to indicate what he was doing. “But you were hard. I could feel it.”

“Sorry,” Derek says. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Dex shakes his head a little, his hand keeping the same steady pace. “No, it’s--I was hard too. Wanted to jerk off, but all I could think about was if you woke up. If you saw.”

“What did you think would happen?” Derek asks, honestly curious.

Dex blushes so hard Derek can feel the heat of it on his skin. “Figured you’d probably chirp me forever, but I wondered…”

Derek trails his fingers lightly down Dex’s arm, mesmerized by the play of muscles under pale, freckled skin. “You wondered?”

“Wondered--ah--if maybe you’d watch me,” Dex admits, his eyes sliding shut, the blush spreading down to his chest.

“Like I’m watching now?”

“Yeah,” Dex says breathily. “Or maybe--maybe you’d put your hand over mine.”

Derek slides his hand down over Dex’s wrist, wrapping it around Dex’s. “Like this?” he murmurs.

Dex shudders. “God. Yeah.”

“Then what happened?” Derek asks, unable to look away from their joined hands as they move.

“You moved,” Dex says, his voice rough. His hips are starting to move, fucking his cock harder into the circle of their hands, grinding his ass back against Derek. “I thought you were waking up--fuck. But you kissed the back of my neck--”

Derek presses his lips there again, tasting salt and skin and Dex. “Like this?”

“And I came in my fucking shorts like I was thirteen again,” Dex rasps, his breath growing ragged.

“I thought I was dreaming,” Derek confesses, his lips brushing the shell of Dex’s ear. “Dreaming about this, you and me, just like this. Soft and sleepy and hot. This is better.”

Dex’s breath sobs out of his throat, his whole body shaking. “Fuck, Derek, please--”

“You’re so good,” Derek says, tightening his hand, moving it faster. “You’re perfect, Dex, come on, babe, come for me, wanna see you, come on--”

Dex’s whole body tenses against him, his hips thrusting forward and grinding back as he comes. Derek strokes him through it, watching him shake through the aftershocks. His own cock is rock-hard, leaving a sticky spot against Dex’s lower back, but it seems somehow distant, less urgent than the need to hold Dex, to watch him fall apart.

Finally Dex drags his hand away, shuddering. “Too much, too much. God.”

Derek kisses his shoulder, holding Dex close, savoring the way Dex’s body seems to melt back against him. If you’d asked him three months ago, he would’ve said that there was no way William Poindexter could ever be this relaxed, soft and sweet and boneless.

“Mmmmm,” Dex sighs. “What about you? You said you thought you were dreaming?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, suddenly painfully aware of his own erection. “Woke up when you went into the bathroom and I was so hard. I had to jerk off but I didn’t know when you’d come back out.”

Dex huffs out a laugh, rolling to his side and propping his head up on one hand. “Man, I would’ve straight-up died if I’d come out and you were jerking off. You’re so fucking hot when you do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Derek arches his back a little, loving the way Dex’s eyes follow his hand as he finally starts to jerk himself off. “You like this?”

“Fuck off,” Dex says without heat. “You know you’re hot. Stop fishing for compliments.”

Derek rolls his hips up to fuck into his fist, smiling a little when Dex’s eyes widen. “I knew I was safe when the shower was on, but it turned off and all I could think about was you opening that door, seeing me. I came so fucking hard…” His voice trails off as Dex’s hand wraps around his.

“You want me to watch you, babe?” Dex murmurs.

Derek groans out an assent, the words that usually roll off his tongue lost in the desperate need to come. It only takes a few more strokes of their joined hands before his orgasm crashes through him, leaving him gasping for air and clutching at Dex’s shoulder.

They lie there in bed together, drowsing in comfortable warmth, until small children pound a frantic drumbeat on the door, summoning them downstairs. It’s probably the best Christmas morning Derek can remember.

It feels right, being here with Dex. It feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an amazing journey and I really appreciate all the love and support in the form of comments, kudos, and Tumblr messages as I took my first steps into this fandom! I love you all!!!
> 
> I have plans to write other Check Please fics, but my main writing focus in 2017 is going to be my original fiction (of course, that's what I said this year, too, but hopefully I'll actually do it). You can always [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) for Check Please content, pictures of Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Jeremy Renner, and/or Tyler Seguin, plus whatever else catches my fancy.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is fully outlined, but I'll be posting as I can get it written. I hope to stick to two chapters per week, but life sometimes gets crazy.
> 
> If you're on Tumblr, [stop by and say hi!](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


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